Never Love a Lawman (49 page)

Rachel rose up on her knees and reached for her. They clung together. She whispered in Rose’s ear, “They’ve come for us.”

Rose nodded. Tears clung to her lashes. She pulled back and gave Rachel a watery smile. “I’ll see to Mr. Dover. You look after Foster Maddox. You certainly have that right.”

They got to their feet together. Rose leaned over the accountant and began her ministrations while Rachel went to Foster. He was still crouched on the floor, sweeping his hand under the desk to collect more of the documents.

“Leave them,” she said. “They can’t possibly be so important.”

He didn’t lift his head to look at her. “You’re wrong.”

Rachel got out of his way. He was moving with a certain frenzy that she found curious and more than a little alarming. Skirting the desk, she opened the drawer where she’d seen him put the bottle of liniment. It was lying on its side between a ruler and a compass. She pulled it out and shook it a little as she held it up to the light. He had indeed drunk most of it, a fact that led her to believe he had the constitution of a horse.

She returned the bottle to her own pocket just as Foster stood. He counted the pages in his hand and began another search.

“The train’s stopped, Foster. We’re not going anywhere.”

He ignored her. His eyes alighted on the last of the papers. Rose had captured them with the toe of her left shoe. She was bent forward, picking glass off Mr. Dover’s coat with one hand and pressing a handkerchief to his head with the other. He was moaning softly.

“Foster,” Rachel said. “Leave it.”

He stooped, shoved Rose’s foot aside, and grabbed the papers. She teetered on one foot and then righted herself. She held up one hand to show Rachel how she’d cut herself on the glass. Blood trickled down her palm.

Rachel gestured to her to step out of Foster’s way and gave her a warning look not to provoke him. “What are you going to do with those?” she asked Foster as he counted them again.

He didn’t answer.

Rachel recognized his intent when he began moving toward the stove. His steps were heavy and slightly faltering, but he only had a short distance to cover to reach his destination. She called out to him as he opened the door to the stove. “We photographed the papers, Foster. We have everything. You can destroy them, but I’m telling you it won’t matter. I photographed Adele’s face, too. All of her bruises, in fact. There’s evidence now. People will learn the truth about you.”

He turned sharply, holding the documents in front of him. His eyes accused her before his words did the same. “You’re lying.”

Rachel saw that he was weaving slightly. “Sit down,” she said. “You’re going to fall. Do you have any idea what’s happening?” When he merely stared at her, she pointed to the shattered window. “The avalanche didn’t happen by itself. Miners brought that down. My husband’s out there, Foster. So is that no-account Beatty boy. They’re coming for us. They’re coming for you.”

“What?” He frowned. “What? No.”

“No one’s come forward,” she said. “You haven’t even noticed that no one’s come forward to find you. Wyatt’s rounding them up. Like cattle.” She smiled faintly, wryly. “Like sheep.”

For the first time since the train stopped, Foster listened to something outside the drumming in his own head. He heard the snuffling of horses, the deep timbre of masculine voices, and the thud of firearms being tossed to the ground.

“Please, Foster, won’t you sit down?” She pointed to the bench the attorneys had occupied and prayed that he would take it.

“It’s the elixir, isn’t it?” he said, closing his eyes briefly.

“I’m afraid so.”

His hand wavered as he pointed at Rose. “You drank. I watched you.”

Rose shrugged. “You saw what I wanted you to. That’s the nature of my business, Mr. Maddox, and I’m very good at what I do.” She smiled sweetly, if insincerely. “Besides, there wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to drink something that smelled like cat piss.”

Rachel braced herself for Foster’s response. His eyes were not so glazed that she could miss the annoyance that Rose sparked there. She imagined that in his own mind he saw himself as charging forward. What he did in reality was stagger.

Rachel turned sideways, blocked his path, and put her shoulder hard into his chest. He stumbled backward against the stove and dropped the papers as he tried to regain his balance. He stared at them for a moment, frowning as if he were struggling to recall how they’d come to be there; then he raised his head and fixed his attention once more on Rose.

Watching him, Rachel realized that he had but one target now. Rage had chipped away at his peripheral vision, narrowing his focus so that Rose stood alone at the end of the tunnel. Rachel pushed her out of the way just as Foster sprang out of his crouch. It hardly mattered that he lacked the gracefulness of a mountain cat. He was tall and lean and fit and had a reach that extended well beyond Rachel’s own. His fingertips grazed Rose’s shoulder, but Rachel took the full force of his rash leap and was slammed to the floor and pinned under his suddenly dead weight.

That was how Wyatt found her. Standing over her, he took stock of her situation and simply shook his head, the faintest of admiring grins tugging at one side of his mouth. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Will was already all over Rose and that the hapless Mr. Dover had been left to fend for himself.

“Took your breath away, did he?” Wyatt asked his wife. He reached down, grabbed Foster Maddox by the collar of his jacket, and jerked him off Rachel. Holstering his gun, he hunkered beside her, and placed a restraining hand on her shoulder. “Give yourself a moment,” he said. “He took you down hard.”

She made a strangled, gasping sound as she tried to fill her lungs with air. In the end, she mostly mouthed the words. “You saw that?”

“He was already in the air.”

“He wanted Rose.”

Wyatt’s fingertips grazed her cheek. “Did he?” he asked softly. “I couldn’t tell.”

She nodded. Her wary glance went sideways to where Foster lay.

“He’s out cold.” To prove it, Wyatt gave Foster’s shoulder a hard jab. “You cushioned his fall, so that doesn’t explain it. What did you do to him?”

Rachel reached in her pocket and drew out the cobalt-blue bottle. She held it up for Wyatt to see.

His brow puckered. “Liniment? I don’t understand. How did that work?”

“He drank it.”

Wyatt’s expression clearly betrayed his revulsion. “Drank it? Why would he do that? It smells like cat piss.” He took the bottle, examined it, then regarded Rachel’s innocent smile with suspicion. “It’s all right,” he said, pocketing it. “I’ll hear about it later, though I’m inclined to think target shooting was mostly wasted on you.” He slid an arm under her shoulders and helped her sit up. “Better?”

Her eyes darted to where Will and Rose were still locked in a smothering embrace. “Better if you kiss me.”

His eyes followed hers. That no-account Beatty boy hadn’t come up for air. “You just got your breath back,” he reminded her.

She raised her arms and slid them around his neck. “I never mind when you steal it away.”

Wyatt caught Rachel by the waist and drew her up as he stood. His hands moved to the buttons of her coat. He unfastened them and slipped his arms inside, drawing her flush to his body. It still didn’t seem close enough, but then he didn’t know what would. It was only now, with the assurance that she was safe, that he could admit to all his fears that she wouldn’t be.

He touched his forehead to hers. “Oh, God, Rachel,” he whispered. “You can’t know. You can’t possibly know.” His mouth found hers. He kissed her hard, deeply, and took the breath she offered him.

At their feet, Foster Maddox stirred. Sensing the movement, Wyatt placed a boot heel hard in the middle of his back. He ignored Foster’s soft moan and kept him pinned underfoot until he could set Rachel safely away. She didn’t make it easy for him to leave her. Her lips clung, and even when he raised his head a fraction she leaned into him and pressed her mouth to the corner of his.

“Go on,” he said. “I need you to be outside.”

Rachel did not try to conceal her worry. Her eyes darted to Foster, then back to Wyatt. “You won’t…” She didn’t finish her sentence, couldn’t really.

“Go on,” he repeated, more firmly this time. It wasn’t a suggestion and he didn’t mean for her to take it as one. “Rose. Go with her.”

Rose’s only response was to point a finger at Will behind his back.

Wyatt barked at his deputy, “For God’s sake, Will, propose or let her go. Better yet, do both.”

That made Will’s head snap up. He stared at Rose. Twin coins of ruddy color appeared in his cheeks as she stared right back. “I—that is, I—well, Rose, it’s a fact that I—see, Wyatt knows how I feel about—”

She took pity on him, patting his shoulder. “I’ll just go, Will. Give you some time to work on that proposal.” She slipped out of his embrace and dodged him when he would have made a grab at her, then made a wide arc around Foster Maddox’s outstretched arms. “C’mon, Rachel. We’re in the way now.”

Rachel understood that her presence was a distraction and compromised Wyatt’s choices and his ability to act. It should have been easier to leave than it was. She backed away from Foster and Wyatt and waited for Rose to reach her side.

“He wanted the mining agreement,” she said, pointing to the papers littering the floor. “And control of the spur. He was like a dog with a bone. I told him you’d made photographs, but he had his mind set on destroying them anyway.”

“He convinced himself that you’d take everything.” Mr. Randolph Dover sat up a little straighter as every eye was drawn to him. He touched his tender scalp and found a folded handkerchief still pressed to his bloody wound. He left it there and laid his hand over it. With his free hand, he brushed bits of glass from his coat, clearing most of it before he raised his head again. “He thinks you’re his aunt,” he told Rachel. “No one could tell him differently.”

“His aunt?” Rachel stared at him, incredulous. “But that would make me—”

It was Wyatt who put what strained her belief into words. “Clinton Maddox’s daughter.”

The accountant nodded. “It was his mother that planted the seed, and her parents that nurtured it. They might even have believed it. I can’t be sure.” He paused, working his jaw back and forth. “And it doesn’t change anything. They poisoned him. There’s no other way to describe it.”

Rachel shook her head. “No. He couldn’t have thought that. He accused me of being his grandfather’s mistress. He wanted to make me his—” She bit off the last words and protectively crossed her arms in front of her. This last gesture didn’t stop her from shivering. “It’s not true,” she said. “Mr. Maddox wasn’t my father. I know he wasn’t. He never hinted as much to me, and my mother…my mother would never have…she
loved
my father.”

Rose stepped back as Wyatt left Foster and moved to Rachel’s side.

“Mr. Dover knows it’s not true,” Wyatt said gently. “So do I. You don’t have to convince us.”

Groaning in pain, Foster Maddox rolled onto his back. He shaded his eyes from the light coming in the window, and when he spoke, his words were slurred but understandable. “She’s trying to convince herself. Isn’t that right, Rachel? You wondered all your life, the same as I did.”

“You’re wrong,” she said. “I never wondered.”

“Same as I did,” he repeated. “He sent your father off to die, just like he did mine. He wanted your mother again. Everyone knew.”

Rachel realized he was only repeating the things he’d been told by Cordelia and her parents. She discovered that in spite of all that he’d done, and all that he’d tried to do, she could still feel pity for him.

Randolph Dover swept glass off the bench and moved to the end of it. “You can’t tell him he’s wrong,” he said. “I watched two of my predecessors try. He dismissed both of them. He thinks there’s evidence somewhere that will prove it, so he’s destroying everything. The attorneys can’t reason with him. He’s certain you know you’re his aunt because you refused all his advances.”

Rachel flushed, but her embarrassment paled in comparison to Mr. Dover’s. He fiddled with his spectacles while his eyes remained fixed on the floor. He had to clear his throat before he could go on, and then rushed through the last of his explanation as though every word of it was distasteful to him.

“He couldn’t imagine that anything other than the sin of incest would make you deny him. And that was the trap, you see. Even if he had to force you, it would ensure your silence. It was always his fear, that you or Clinton would publicly acknowledge your blood tie. That’s why he approved of the rumor that you were Clinton Maddox’s mistress and why it was so important to him to get you into his bed. He was certain you’d never come forward if he had carnal knowledge of you.”

Rachel pressed the back of her fist to her mouth but couldn’t quite stifle her moan. Wyatt was the one who put a stop to it.

“For God’s sake, that’s enough. Rachel, get out of here.”

Mr. Dover hung his head. “I thought she would want to know,” he said quietly. “I thought after doing nothing, I owed her that.” At his feet, Foster Maddox had managed to push himself up on his elbows. Randolph Dover stared at him. “But I might owe Miss Adele Brownlee more.”

He lifted his palm and revealed the four-inch dagger of glass resting on his knee. Before anyone could react, he used it to open Foster Maddox’s throat.

Reidsville, Colorado, April 1883

“Did you finally get your sister settled?” Rachel dipped lower in the tub as soon as she heard the back door open. She swore she could feel an eddy of cool night air slip into the house along with Wyatt. Even with the tub pulled close to the stove it was hard to keep the bath warm enough for her tastes. She’d already added as much hot water as she dared, and there was little maneuvering that could be done without sloshing it over the sides.

Wyatt knocked mud off his boots and brushed rain spatter from the shoulders of his coat before he stepped into the kitchen. A grin tugged at his mouth when he saw Rachel in the tub. He leaned back against the wall, folded his arms in front of him, and gave her the benefit of his full, appreciative regard. “Am I in time to wash your back?”

“Already done.”

“Then your front.”

“I don’t even think you’re supposed to see me on the night before our wedding day.”

“I’m not supposed to see you in your dress or some such nonsense. According to your mother and mine, I’m supposed to be in Wyoming. But I don’t think those rules apply when the couple is already married.”

“An insignificant detail.” She squeezed water from the sponge and let it trickle over her shoulders. “Did you hear me when you came in? I asked if you got Julianna settled.”

“I did.” He unbuttoned his coat and hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “It would have been easier if I’d put my sister and her brood in jail for the night. Her children would have enjoyed the adventure, and Julianna and her husband would have been assured of receiving breakfast in their room.”

Rachel laughed, though not without sympathy. “She cannot have been so awful.”

“Even my mother was out of patience with her. She reminded Julianna that everyone else has been here since Tuesday and that if Julianna was unhappy with the arrangements, she should have arrived before all the suites were taken.” He shook his head, sighing. “Of course, Mother did not offer to give Julianna her suite and take a room instead. Your mother made the offer, but my sister had the good sense to refuse it.”

“Were you pointing your gun at her?”

“It was tempting, but no.” He pushed away from the wall, removed his coat, and hung it up. When he returned to the kitchen, he pulled out a chair, spun it around on one leg, and straddled it. He laid his forearms over the top rung of the ladder-back and rested his chin on the back of his hands.

Rachel glanced up. “I wish I had been able to spend more time with your sister. I liked her. She is very direct.”

“That’s one word for it.”

“What do you call her?”

“Rude.”

Rachel threw the damp sponge at him. He batted it away easily, and it fell back into the water, splashing her. She swiped water from her eyes and then settled back. “I’m glad she arrived in time, Wyatt. With the exception of your grandparents, who would certainly have found the long train journey a hardship, you have your entire family here. That’s satisfying, don’t you think?”

It was, but he wasn’t prepared to admit it so easily. “They’re here because they’re curious.”

“There’s nothing at all wrong with that. I don’t mind their examination; it seems perfectly natural given the circumstances. And you must have noticed that my mother’s inspection of you has been equally thorough. I think they feel compelled to be cautious in their judgment, perhaps even a bit critical, because in the end, their good opinion is merely gravy on the biscuit.”

Wyatt chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind tomorrow morning when I’m waiting for you to join me at the chancel rail. Of course, no one pays much attention to the groom. They’ll all be looking at you.” He watched Rachel lose a little color in her cheeks as she absorbed the truth of that. “Gravy on the biscuit,” he reminded her.

Rachel slipped a little lower into the tub. Water lapped at her chin. “Maybe we should elope. I could still wear the dress.”

He pretended to think about it. “Well, I suppose if you promised to wear the dress…” He grinned as she flicked water at him. “All right. No. Absolutely not. We’re getting married in a church this time around.”

“Thank you,” she said. “For a moment, I thought you were wavering.”

“You’re confusing me with that no-account Beatty boy.”

She stared at him from under her long, dark lashes, her expression wry and amused. “Now, there’s a mistake I’m not likely to make.”

Wyatt knew better than to assume she was complimenting him. He proceeded cautiously. “Is that right?”

“Will Beatty’s asked Rose to marry him more times in the last three months than Abe Dishman ever asked me, so his hesitation to keep spinning that wheel is understandable, but my point is—”

“So you have one. I wondered.”

She threatened him with the sponge again. “My point is that you’ve never proposed to me.”

He regarded her with surprise. “Of course I have.”

“You showed me some papers and we negotiated a settlement. That’s what I remember.”

Wyatt thrust his fingers through his hair as he thought back. “That’s a hell of a thing to tell me now.”

“Could be it’s your last chance to get it done.”

“Hell of a thing,” he said again, more to himself than to her. He fell silent for a while, watching the water lap gently against the side of the tub as Rachel sat up a little straighter. He reared back in his chair suddenly and began patting down his vest and searching his pockets.

Watching him, Rachel simply shook her head. She doubted that a carefully penned proposal was what he was looking for.

Wyatt finally produced a folded piece of paper and tipped his chair forward so he could put it in Rachel’s hands. “Telegram. Artie found me at the hotel after you left.”

“And you’re just recalling it now?”

He gave her a frank look, his cool blue eyes dipping significantly to the white curves of her breasts. “I can’t imagine what distracted me.”

“If you keep looking at me like that, say, for the next fifty years or so, I might just get annoyed.” Ignoring Wyatt’s unrepentant grin, Rachel unfolded the telegram. “Well,” she said after reading it through once. “Jay Mac Worth has finalized the purchase of the C & C. I’m sure it isn’t right to say so, but it feels as if he’s given us a wedding present.”

Wyatt had to agree. He accepted the telegram back and looked it over. “It’s done, then.” There was a certain amount of satisfaction in finally being able to say the words. Foster Maddox had proved to be almost as difficult in death as he had been in life. He died intestate, thus leaving the door open for his mother to continue his claim that the Calico Spur was legitimately his. Cordelia Maddox made a fight of it simply because she was sufficiently rich in both resources and resentment. She made the journey to Reidsville to bring back her son’s body and stayed to watch Randolph Dover hang for his death.

The accountant’s trial was a subdued affair, unlike the ones where cattle thieves and land grabbers were the defendants before the court. The gallery was filled every day and remained largely quiet as the facts were put before the jury. Adele Brownlee was the exception to the peace and dignity of the proceedings. She had convinced herself that she was in some way responsible for Mr. Dover’s actions and cried so loudly and copiously on the first day of the trial that Judge Wentworth ordered her removed. He told Wyatt later that he would have liked to remove Cordelia Maddox as well, but other than her coldly penetrating stare she gave him no cause.

The accountant posed no problems during his brief stay in jail. Although he had nothing to say in his defense, he was willing, even eager to talk at length about the fragile solvency of the empire that Clinton Maddox had built. Certain decisions made by Foster in the eight months before Clinton’s death had placed the California and Colorado in a vulnerable financial position. It was Dover that suggested contacting John MacKenzie Worth of the powerful Northeast Rail and hinting that the C & C could be acquired at a very reasonable thirty-nine cents on the dollar.

Wyatt glanced at the telegram one more time before he set it aside. Jay Mac’s negotiations for the C & C included the contested spur and property around Reidsville, but now that the purchase was complete, both would be returned to the rightful owners. The contract that Wyatt and Jay Mac’s attorneys had drawn up assured it.

It was satisfying to see justice applied in such a fashion, and the timing could not have been better.

“The town’s going to have a good deal more to celebrate than our wedding,” he said. “This news will ensure that the dancing and drinking goes on all night.”

“Debauchery, too, I suspect.”

Wyatt gave Rachel a frankly carnal look. “Lord, but I’m counting on that.”

Her laughter was short-lived as she aspirated some water and began to cough. Wyatt seized on the opportunity and left his chair so that he could hunker beside the tub. He slipped a hand under Rachel’s arm, pulled her up, and gave her a solid thwack between her shoulder blades. The sound of it was out of all proportion to the actual force he used and very nearly echoed in the small kitchen. Afraid that he had really hurt her, Wyatt reared back and threw up his hands.

“Are you all right?” he asked. He angled his head, trying to catch her eye. He couldn’t tell if the trail of water on her cheeks was the result of splashing or tears. “I swear I didn’t mean to—” The sopping wet sponge she pushed in his face served to effectively cut him off and answer his question at the same time.

Wyatt wrested the sponge from her hand and wrung it out over her head. She protested more for form’s sake than out of any sincere outrage. It was only when he stood and removed his jacket, then began to unbutton his vest that her objections took on a more genuine tone.

“There’s no room in here, Wyatt.”

“Sure there is.”

“There’ll be water all over the floor.”

He tossed his vest over the back of a chair and started on his shirt. “I’ll mop it up.”

“No, you won’t.”

One corner of his mouth edged upward. “How well you know me.”

She snorted lightly. “I know every man at least that well.”

Wyatt lifted his left eyebrow and gave her an arch look.

She decided to take another tack. “I put lavender in the water.”

He already had his shirt half off, and now he paused to regard her suspiciously. Bending at the waist, he waved one hand over the ribbons of steam rising from the tub and sniffed. The fragrance was definitely floral. He considered the consequences to his manhood and announced, “I’m partial to lavender.”

Rachel looked pointedly at the bulge in his trousers, then even more pointedly at him. “You’d be partial to skunk if I’d put it in the water with me.”

He held up his thumb and forefinger separated by a hairsbreadth. “You could be flattering yourself just this much.”

Rather than risk choking on her laughter again, Rachel pressed the sponge against her mouth to suppress it. His single-mindedness was both maddening and disarming. “Did I know you were incorrigible when I agreed to marry you?”

Wyatt sat down again to remove his boots and socks. “You’re a fair judge of character. I’d have to say you had your suspicions.”

“Hmm. I wonder what made me put them aside?” The knowing, slightly wicked smile he turned on her warmed Rachel from the inside out. “No, that wasn’t it.” His deep chuckle, though, made her shiver. “It might have been that.”

Wyatt stood up, shucked his trousers and drawers, and tested the water with his fingertips before he committed.

Amused, Rachel asked, “Isn’t it a bit late to decide that my bath is too hot to suit you?”

“Not at all.” He put one foot in. “I can always lift you out.” He stepped in fully and began to gingerly lower himself into the tub. Water started to spill over the sides before he got his thighs wet.

Rachel made as much room for him as she could, but when the waterfall began she levered herself to her feet like a jack-in-the-box. She was out of the tub before Wyatt understood her intention. “Stay where you are,” she told him as he started to rise. “I’ll scrub your back.” She pointed to the water when he hesitated. “You won’t be sorry.”

Wyatt watched her put on her robe. He was already sorry, and the fact that robe clung appealing to her damp skin only improved his mood marginally. Still, he eased himself into the tub. The promise of a back scrub was a powerful inducement, and in truth, they both knew she’d merely won a temporary stay.

Rachel wrung out her wet hair and loosely plaited it while Wyatt attended to his bath. She stood over him with a pitcher of warm water when it was time to rinse the soap out of his hair, and he sighed with sybaritic pleasure as she tipped the pitcher and trickled water over his head and shoulders.

Rachel set the half-empty pitcher on the table and knelt beside the tub. “There’s not a dry spot left on this floor,” she told him. She folded a towel and put it under her knees, then gave him a gentle push to lean forward. “How do you manage that?”

“Couldn’t say.” He handed her the soap and sponge and presented his back. “Take your time.”

She gave him a little jab with the sponge. “You aren’t that patient.” Lathering his back, she felt his chuckle more than heard it. “I’ve been thinking about what I want to tell my mother and sister about the mine,” she said. “I’m not certain they need to know everything.”

With Rachel’s hand moving hypnotically across his back, Wyatt had some trouble following the abrupt turn in her conversation. He knew she’d been struggling with keeping the town’s secret from her family, but since her mother and sister had no intention of settling in Reidsville, she had gone back and forth with not only what was fair to reveal, but what she could live with. He crafted a careful reply. “Tell me more.”

“Well, it didn’t seem possible that the true wealth of the town’s mine could stand so much scrutiny and not be revealed. Attorneys. Accountants. Engineers. Cordelia Maddox was as certain as Foster that there was something worth finding.”

“She wasn’t wrong.”

“I know,” she said quietly. Rachel had often wondered if Cordelia suspected Mr. Dover of keeping his own secrets. The accountant had not only lied to Foster Maddox about his grandfather’s private records; he’d also created a separate set of ledgers to keep the originals from being examined by anyone else. Randolph Dover had known all along there were millions of dollars associated with the mine production, not thousands. “It certainly helped that Daniel Seward and his men never located the underground vault. They had nothing at all to report to Cordelia. I still find it odd, don’t you?”