Squire's Quest (22 page)

"I've got water hot. Or I can make coffee."

"Tea's fine." He tossed something on the table. "You'll want to read those."

"What--" It was the bundle of letters from Pa's crate. "When did you take them? What
right--"

"It was me or Mick. I figured you'd rather I did it. They're old. Some of them are from
your mother."

The bundle sat there on the table, tempting her. If only...

"I think you should read them. At least those dealing with his business. They might open
your eyes to what he really is." There was a hard note in his voice.

"I'll read the ones from Ma." She reached.

His hand got there first. "Read them all. Or none."

"They're my father's letters. You've no right to tell me I can't read them."

"I can, because I'm bigger and meaner than you. And because I want you to stop seeing
your father as without flaw."

Silently she set her boots on the floor beside the bed. Crumpling the oil-stained
newspaper, she tossed it into the fire, where it flamed brightly. "I'll make tea."

He wasn't going to force her to read those letters. Pa wasn't a kind man, but he wasn't a
bad one, either. She'd heard him say a man in business had to be strict in his dealings, couldn't let
others take advantage of him. Surely that made sense. Catch Frau Trebelhorn putting up with any
nonsense from those she dealt with. Callie knew she checked every single item on the monthly
bills and would challenge any she thought were too high.

He drank his tea in silence while she sliced potatoes and onions and set them to frying.
The steak he'd picked was big enough for two suppers, so she rewrapped half of it in the butcher
paper and set it inside the cupboard. Mixing a batch of biscuits took only a few minutes, and
when she was done and the potatoes turned, she had nothing to do until time to cook the
steak.

"All right, I'll read them," she said, as she sat across the table from him, "after I've read
the ones from Ma."

"First."

"Damn you, Merlin Lachlan."

"Don't swear. It ain't ladylike."

Her pa would have slapped her good for saying that word. "I'm sorry. But--"

"Cal, just read the letters." He slid five envelopes across the table. "But wait 'til after
supper."

She stared across at him, read concern in his expression. There was something awful in
her pa's letters. She just knew it.

* * * *

...your payment received. As soon as you get here, you can take over
management of the house. You'll have to keep a tight rein on the girls. They've
gotten lazy and defiant under Moe's management.

My advice is to raise the rates. A dollar a trick won't make you rich. With
Matty's closing, you'll get most of the custom, so business won't fall off if you
charge more. Of course, you'll have to give the girls more, too, but hold the
percentage down. Whores like them don't need a lot, not with you providing their
board and room.

Callie laid the second letter aside. She'd known her father was involved in the
bawdyhouse in Virginia City, but she hadn't realized he'd owned it. To think he was a
whoremaster, yet he'd demanded perfect, ladylike behavior from her.

The third letter was dated a few weeks later.

If I could prove you cheated, I'd have the law on you. Nobody gets cards as
good as you did that night. I told you I'd redeem my I.O.U. in two weeks. You
knew that when you took it. I'll get even, one way or another. You just wait...

Tucked in the envelope with the fourth letter, one accusing her father of stealing the
deed to another saloon, was a newspaper clipping. The article told of a body found up on Boot
Hill, victim of rattlesnake bite. "What is peculiar about the body is the presence of rope burns on
the deceased's wrists and ankles. While there is no proof he was forcibly restrained at the time of
his demise, the possibility exists that he was staked out and left to take his chances in an area
known to harbor the vicious pit vipers." The writer went on to state that because of his
reputation, the dead man would not be mourned by the right-thinking citizens of Virginia
City.

"You don't have to read any more."

She looked up. Merlin was staring at her, his expression almost sad. When something
dripped on her wrist, she realized it was a tear. "Yes," she said, almost choking on the word.
"Yes, I do."

She picked up the last of the letters. It was the worst of all, she realized as she followed
the spidery writing down the page. "...whatever you gave her did the job, but it did it too well.
She died this morning. Right up to the last minute, she insisted the babe was yours. She said she
hadn't asked you to do right by her, just to lend her enough to get back to St. Louis. You're a
devil, Lem Smith, and I hope you rot in Hell."

Her hand shook as she laid the last letter on the table. "You were right."

"I'm sorry."

"Why? That you were right? Isn't that what you wanted me to learn? That my father was
a monster?"

"Yes. No. Tarnation, Cal, I just wanted you to stop thinking of him as perfect. I didn't
want you to hurt like this." He reached across and took her hands in both of his. "I really am
sorry."

"Yes, well, you know what they say about the road to Hell. Now, if you don't mind, I
want to go to bed." She pulled jerked her hands free. Pulling on her old coat, she picked up the
lantern.

I hope he's gone when I get back. I really don't want to talk to him, don't even want
to see him tonight.

She slipped out the door and headed for the outhouse.

* * * *

Merlin had the makeshift canvas curtain hung from the rafters when she returned.

"What's that for?" she said even before she pushed the door shut.

"Your bedroom. I figured you'd want privacy."

He could almost feel the silence while she took off her coat. At last she turned to face
him. "Privacy? When I'll be all alone?"

"I'll make my bed over there." He pointed toward the wall farthest from the bed. "It's too
cold to sleep in the barn tonight."

"You promised--"

"Last night I promised to sleep in the barn. I did. And I nigh froze to death. Tarnation,
Cal, it's not like we haven't slept together before."

Her face went dead still.

"I mean--"

"I was a child."

"So was I. Or near enough to make no difference. So what?"

She plumped herself down on the edge of the bed. "I know this would happen. I told you
it was wrong for me to come here."

Sudden realization dawned. He crossed the room and knelt in front of her. "Cal?"

Her head was turned and her gaze fastened on the fire.

Well, hell.
He caught one hand and held it despite her efforts to pull away. "Do
you trust me?"

The little catch of her breath sounded almost like a hiccup.

"Do you?"

A tiny nod. "Mostly," she whispered, almost too softly for him to hear.

"Are you afraid of me? Afraid I'll hurt you?"

Her head remained still.

"Ahh, I see. So how about I make you a promise? Will you believe me if I swear not to
do anything to you you don't want? I promise I won't kiss you, won't try to talk you into..." He
gulped, because he'd never had this kind of conversation with a lady before. "Into my bed. Will
you believe that?"

"Would you?"

"Try to talk you into my bed? Maybe, if I thought it would do me any good. I'm no
angel, Cal, just a man. You're a pretty woman, one I'm fond of. I'd not be a man if I didn't have a
hunger for you." He felt her stiffen. "I won't come to your bed without an invitation. If you want
me for a lover, you'll have to do the asking.

"Now, can we go to bed? Morning comes early around mules."

Every time she woke during that long, long night, Callie listened for the sound of his
breathing. Once she heard him stir, and another time she heard him go to the door and open it.
She felt the draft for a dozen heartbeats and imagined him standing there, checking the barn and
the corrals for anything out of order. When he closed the door with a soft click of the latch, she
relaxed and drifted off again.

She woke to the sound of someone stirring up the fire. How comfortable it was to just lie
here, knowing the room would be warm when she got up. It was like she was ten years old again,
before her mother had sickened. "Rise and shine, Callie," she would say. "The day's a
wastin'."

"Cal?" A man's voice.

This is wrong.

"Time to wake up."

No, it was right. She was a woman grown now, and her mother was long dead. She
started to flip the covers back, then realized how badly she needed to use the chamber pot. "Can
you...go outside for a bit?"

"We do need wood." The door opened and closed.

She scampered out of bed and took care of her business. Even though the curtain was as
good as a wall to hide behind, she hurried into her clothes, and was buttoning up her bodice
when he came back in.

"Good morning," she said as she stepped from behind the curtain.

The armload of firewood fell with a clatter into the woodbox and he turned to face her.
"I didn't buy you those britches so they could sit on the shelf." The hard note was back in his
voice.

"And I told you I wouldn't wear them. It's not fitting."

"If you want to go anywhere, you will. I'll not have you riding in a skirt. It's not safe."
He cast a meaningful glance at her ankles, or where they would be if she'd been wearing britches.
"Or modest."

Recognizing a battle she wasn't apt to win, she went to the counter and peered into the
milk bucket he'd brought in last night. "Have you ever had fresh cream on biscuits?"

"No, but I'll eat pretty much anything that doesn't bite me first."

She bit her lip to hold back the giggle as a picture of him chewing on the threshing tail
of a wildcat came to mind. "I'll start some sponge tonight, but biscuits will do for today." She set
the skillet on its stand in the fireplace and put half a dozen split biscuits into it. Toasted, they'd
taste good with cream.

The way he ignored the fact that they'd slept in the same room helped her get over being
skittish. He treated her like she imagined he'd treat a sister, just the way he had when she first
knew him. Maybe what he said about her inviting him to her bed had been just so he could deny
it convincingly. He'd sure never looked at her with that fearsome hunger in his expression, the
way some men did.

The knock came at the door as she was wiping down the skillet. Merlin was still at the
table, reading as he sipped the last of his tea. "I'll get it," he said before she could take a
step.

With his hand on the latch, he said, "Who is it?"

"Mick."

Merlin opened the door. "You're too late for breakfast, but there's water hot for tea."

"No coffee?"

"I could make some," Callie said, and wondered if she should have asked Merlin if he
wanted coffee instead of tea. Was he mad she hadn't?

"He'll drink what I do or go thirsty. What kind of Irishman are you anyhow, to drink
coffee instead of tea?"

The Pinkerton man accepted the cup she handed him and sat on the tree-legged stool
instead of taking the chair she offered. "Some excitement in town last night."

"Oh?"

"Lambert House burned down. It was a near thing, keeping the barber shop from going
too." He sipped his tea. "Pretty certain it was set."

"Anybody hurt?"

Speechlessly, Callie stared at the two men. How could they be so calm? Lambert House
was a hotel, with sixteen rooms. Some of those rooms must have been occupied.

"Strangest thing. The alarm was rung almost as soon as the fire started. And someone
ran through the halls, pounding on doors and yelling 'Fire!' Everybody got out, although a couple
of fellas on the third floor got singed. The kitchen and the storeroom you slept in, Miss Smith,
were completely destroyed. The fire probably started there.

"I don't like coincidences."

Merlin tipped his chair back and stared at the rafters. After a minute or two, he said,
"You think this is connected to the bank robbery?"

"I do indeed. Did you open the crate?"

"It was personal stuff, mostly useless, although there were some interesting letters.
Nothing to be of any help to you though."

"I told you." She glared at the Pinkerton man.

"Yes, you did, Miss Smith. I apologize for suspecting you. I'm convinced now you're an
innocent dupe in all this."

Her mouth dropped open. "You think I'm stupid?"

"No, I think you're too innocent to deal with a slick character like your father." He
scratched his chin, surely unshaven this morning. "Well, maybe a little stupid, to believe he's a
fine, upstanding citizen."

"Mick, you ever hear the saying about catching more flies with honey than with
vinegar?" Merlin's voice was soft, but Callie heard something sharp under its mildness.

The Pinkerton man's face went so pink it clashed with his bright red hair. "I have, and I
apologize, Miss Smith. A good child believes the best of its father, no matter what. Will you
forgive my hasty words?"

"Yes." She bit out the word, knowing if she said any more, she would have yelled. As if
she would believe anything, spoken in such a sarcastic tone.

She looked quickly at Merlin, who was the man's friend and who probably had expected
her to politely accept his apology.

He winked.

He never does what I expect. Pa would have been furious.

* * * *

"Can we go to town today? I'd like to pick up some raisins and dried apples." While
there was plenty of flour in the bin, and enough potatoes to feed an army, she had nothing to
bake into a pie. "And eggs. We need more eggs."

"There's no buggy. You'll have to ride astride."

"I know that. I'm ready."

"No, you're not. Put on your britches."