Squire's Quest (18 page)

"Do you think I helped Pa?"

Again he gave her a long, level stare. "The Cal I used to know wouldn't have done it. I
don't believe you've changed, but it has been six years. If I was asked to swear you were
innocent, I couldn't in all honesty do it."

He set the cup on her work table and came to squat before her. "Cal, I want to believe
you're still the same person I knew then. If you are, help Mick find your pa."

Her lips were dry, stiff. She licked them. "You're asking me to bear witness against my
own father."

"I'm asking you to tell the truth. Not to say he did something wrong. Just to help Mick
find him."

How could she answer him? As she sipped her tea, she wondered if there was a trap
buried in his words. She hadn't seen Pa do anything wrong, so how could telling what she knew
do any harm? If Pa was innocent, he was in no danger.

Trouble was, she couldn't be sure he was innocent. She had to admit she didn't know
him very well. Mrs. Flynn hadn't liked him.

I'm not sure I like him, either. He's not a kind man. But he is my pa.

Voices and the sounds of movement in the back room drew her attention. Through the
half-open door, she saw two men carrying a third. The man who'd wanted money?
Is he
dead?
The back door slammed, and everything went quiet.

After a while the Pinkerton man came into the kitchen, supporting Abner, who slumped
against him. The cook had a big lump high on his forehead and a streak of what looked like
blood down his cheek. When they got to the stool in the corner, Abner half-collapsed onto
it.

"Abner?"

"I'm all right, Miz Callie. Got me a hard head, so don't you worry." He wiped his face
with his apron.

The Pinkerton man squatted in front of him. "You ever see that fellow before?"

"Nossir. I never did."

"How about you, Miss Smith. Have you seen him?"

"I--" Callie worried her bottom lip. "Maybe. There was a man on the train... I'm not
sure."

"Is Lemuel Smith your father?"

"Yes. But I haven't seen him--"

He stood and came over to stand in front of her. "I'm Michael X. Conner, Miss Smith. I
work for the Pinkerton Agency, and we've been hired to find the men who robbed Stodgkins'
Bank in Ogden on the second of December, 1875. Here is my identification."

She looked at the leather folder he held out. It held an official-looking paper, but the
words made no sense to her. "Pa didn't--"

"Miss Smith, we've caught one of the robbers. He's in jail in Ogden. He had some of the
stolen money, but only a small portion of the total. He claims Lemuel Smith was the leader, the
mastermind, if you will. That he planned the robbery and hired the men who helped him."

"But he wasn't even in Ogden until that day. We were traveling."

"Please, Miss Smith. I'm not trying to get you to betray your father. All I want is to trace
his movements. You say you got to Ogden on December first. When did you arrive?"

"Late in the afternoon."

His eyebrows went up.

"We went to the depot, then Pa took me to a hotel. The Metropole, I think it was called."
Remembering the icy room, the thin, moth-eaten blankets, she shook her head. "It wasn't a nice
place, but I didn't care. I was so tired, I went right to sleep."

"Alone?"

"Mick!" There was a hard note in Merlin's voice.

"Yes. Pa said he couldn't get two rooms together. He was down the hall."

He continued to question her about what she'd done in Ogden. Some of his questions
made no sense. Why was it important whether her father had come to her door or met her in the
hotel lobby in the morning? Had she written to her father from Virginia City? Who had her
father spoken to on the train?

"I don't know. Men. Just men. The man in the dining car. The conductor. A drummer
who was across the aisle--he dealt in harness and tack, he said. A cattleman, or at least he looked
like one. He had a sheepskin coat and wore chaps. He was in the seat ahead of us." She
swallowed, or tried to. "Could I have more tea? My mouth--"

Merlin refilled her cup. Mr. Conner waited while she sipped, but she could tell he was
impatient to get on with his questions.

The double doors from the dining room swung open. Frau Trebelhorn stood between
them, one hand on each, as if barricading the dining room against invaders. "What has
happened? I was told there were loud noises and even shooting."

"Everything is under--"

"Just a little--"

"Be silent! I did not ask you. Abner! Why are you sitting. It will be the dinner hour
soon. And Calista, your baking should be finished. Why are you here?"

Before Abner could more than open his mouth or Callie could find words, the Pinkerton
man had pulled out his leather notebook again. "I am Michael X. Conner, of the Pinkerton
Agency. I am here on official business. May I assume you are the person in charge?"

"Why yes. But--"

"Mrs. Trebelhorn, isn't it? Your husband is the owner?"

"I am Frau Trebelhorn. My husband and I own this hotel together. Why are you here?"
She lost none of her starch, but her voice became less sharp and demanding.

"I am in pursuit of persons suspected of robbery," he said, sounding official. "One of
them broke in and accosted Mr. Travers and Miss Smith. Fortunately Mr. Lachlan and I saw him
enter and were able to prevent him from harming them."

Puffing up like a broody hen whose nest was being robbed, Frau Trebelhorn stood her
ground. "That may be, but we will soon have many people coming for their supper. Abner, you
will get back to work. Calista, you will help Abner, since he has not been working as he should.
You men, take yourselves off. You have no business in my kitchen."

Abner stood and started toward the range, but his steps faltered. He would have fallen if
Merlin hadn't caught him. "This man is in no shape to work. He's injured. You'll have to get
someone else to cook tonight."

"How inconvenient, but I suppose it is necessary. He certainly does not appear at his full
strength. Calista, you will take his place." She stepped back and let the doors swing shut.

"Abner?" Callie cried, "I can't cook like you can."

"Never you mind, girl. I'll set right here and tell you want to do. 'Tween us, we'll get the
job done."

Taking a deep breath, she pushed herself to her feet. "I hope so. I really hope so."

"I'll help," Merlin said. "Just tell me what to do."

"You better hadn't," Abner told him. "Frau Trebelhorn, she don't like no folks in her
kitchen don't belong here. We'll manage. First thing is to get them taters on to cook. Maybe
before you go, you could bring in about fifteen pounds. They're in a gunny sack back in the
storeroom. Right outside Miz Callie's room. Whilst they's doin' that, Miz Callie, you set to cuttin'
up meat. If we work fast, we can get a stew goin'. Just take the good tender part of that haunch.
There's no time to cook slow."

She picked up the butcher knife, but stopped before leaving the kitchen. "How will I
know what's the tender part? I don't know anything about cutting meat."

Merlin took the knife from her hand. "I do. How much do you need, Abner?"

"Five pounds oughta do it. Not many folks come for supper on Tuesdays."

With Abner's advice, Callie managed to get the stew put together. She cooked the beans
that had been soaking overnight, fried up a big skillet of potatoes and onions and mixed a batch
of cornbread. By the dinner hour, she was so tired she was stumbling. Her day had begun sixteen
hours earlier. In between she'd baked fifteen loaves of bread, six pies, had her throat nearly cut
and been scared half to death.

Since Monday and Tuesday were slow days, Abner's duties included washing the dining
room dishes along with the pots and pans. He was in no shape to stand at the sink, so she told
him he could sit at the table and dry. "I've never liked that part of the job," she said, not quite
truthfully, "but I don't mind washing."

"Uh-huh, I reckon," he said with a wink. "I won't argue though. Still a mite shaky on my
pins."

The clock was striking ten when they finished wiping down the work tables. Callie's feet
were so tired she was stumbling, and Abner's dark face had an ashen look to it. When Merlin
tapped on the storeroom door, she greeted him with relief. "Can you walk Abner home? I don't
think he should be alone. He's still a little weak."

"That's what I came for, But first, can you come in here? Abner, I'll be just a few
minutes."

She gave one last look at the kitchen, just to make sure there was nothing for Frau
Trebelhorn to complain about. All looked neat and tidy, so she slipped through the door.

And was caught in two strong arms, pulled against a hard body. "Eeep!"

"Shh. Just let me hold you." he leaned his forehead against hers, but kept his eyes
closed. "I swear to God, Cal, I've never been so scared in my life. We walked in because Mick
wanted to talk to you, and the first thing we saw was the backside of that son of a bitch. Good
thing we didn't call out. He could have thought we were the law and killed you."

"I didn't even hear you come in."

"He was making just enough noise." With one hand, he cupped her chin. "Cal, I... I've
just got to do this." Before she could think, before she could blink, he tilted his head sideways
and covered her lips with his.

She'd often admired his mouth, the way it smiled so wide and the way it quirked at one
side when he was amused but didn't want to laugh. She'd even let herself dream a little about
what it might feel like. No one had ever kissed her on the mouth, but she'd seen others do it.
There was something so...so personal about it. You had to like someone a whole lot to want to
put your mouth right on theirs.

Something prodded at her lips, something wet. When she realized it was his tongue, she
almost pulled away.

"Open," he murmured. "I want to taste you."

"But--"

It was enough. His tongue slicked along her lower lip, tickling, soothing, sending little
tingles of sensation all over her body. It curled inside, just the tip, and probed against her bottom
teeth.

Did he want her to open her jaws? Was this how men kissed women?

"No." It was just how bad men kissed bad women. She'd seen them, the girls in the
saloons and the ones from the house with the blue door. "I'm not a--" She couldn't say the word.
"I'm a decent woman, Merlin. Let me go."

He raised his head, but his arms kept her tight against him. "I know, Cal. Great God, I
never doubted it a minute. But it was just a kiss. I wasn't asking for more."

"It was more than a kiss," she whispered. It had to be more, for a kiss wouldn't have
made her feel all hot and loose, and...and throbbing, in her woman's parts.

His eye gleamed in the shadows as he looked at her. He wasn't more than a couple of
inches taller, so they were almost eye-to-eye. After a bit, his mouth got that little quirk in the
corner. "I guess it was. But that's because I've got feelings for you. Feelings I've never had for a
woman before."

His arms loosened their hold and he stepped back. "I reckon we need to think about this
for a while. You're worn out and I shouldn't have taken advantage of it."

He kissed the tip of her nose. "Sleep well. I'll see you tomorrow."

She didn't move for a long time after he let himself and Abner out the back door. Her
lips still tingled, and the heat in her lower belly still smoldered. Eventually she went to the door
and threw the bolt. In less than five hours she'd be back in the kitchen. If she didn't get some rest,
she'd be worthless.

When she went into her cubby and saw the mess the bad man had made, she had to work
hard to hold back tears. Wearily she kicked strips of comfort, shreds of pillowcase, and globs of
mattress stuffing under the bed. At least her coat was still in one piece. She fetched it from the
nail beside the back door and wrapped herself in it. The ropes that served as springs made a
miserable bed, but she was so tired. So very tired.

Cold feet and bad dreams kept her from resting. The dreams were filled with knives and
guns and faceless men asking her where the money was.

* * * *

Merlin gave himself a good talking to as he walked to the livery stable. What had he
been thinking, kissing Cal like he had. She wasn't like Felice.

Well, in a way she was, because Felice hadn't been a whore. She took money from her
lovers but gave so much more in return. Hadn't she taught him there was more to having a
woman than satisfying his urges?

Cal was lucky. She had a skill that would support her and she wouldn't have to sell
herself. She'd said her father had apprenticed her to a baker. Was there a shred of decency in
Lemuel Smith, despite Merlin's impression of a man who had only his own interests at
heart?

Gawain complained at being saddled in the middle of the night, and Merlin had to be
stern with him. Once he got the horse aimed toward home, he resumed his cogitation. That
woman at the hotel--Frau Something-or-Other--wasn't going to be happy when she saw the mess
Tom Powell had made. Too bad he'd died. Now the woman had only Abner and Cal to blame for
the mess. He was pretty sure she'd make it their fault. He'd met others like her.

The cabin was chilly when he slipped inside after brushing Gawain and covering him
with a wool blanket. He piled a couple of logs atop the still warm ashes and blew on them until
flames flickered. Once they were burning well, he banked the fire and sat on the edge of his
bed.

Instead of pulling off his boots, he stared at the fire. He wanted Callie. Wanted to see
her without those ugly dresses she wore. Wanted to put his hands on her body, his mouth on
hers, his doowhacker inside her.

At the last thought, he chuckled aloud. How Felice had laughed the first time he'd said
"doowhacker".

"Well, what should I call it?" he said, looking down to see it hanging limp between his
legs. She'd plumb wore him out.