Chapter Four

 

 

THE MAN WHO WANTED to buy her saloon occupied a table all to himself, watching the roulette wheel as he toyed with the whiskey before him. Though the table regularly sat four, none had joined him, and it looked as if none would. He seemed to suffer no injury from their disinterest, merely continuing to observe the roulette wheel, the lamp set upon his table lighting a foolish grin on his face.

Leaning on the balcony’s wooden balustrade, Alice watched him. For over half an hour, Llewellyn had sat at his table and played with his whiskey, raising it to his lips every so often but not drinking a drop. Instead, his avid gaze took in the activity surrounding him, and his eyes had sharpened every now and then as if he were noting something in that empty head of his. Although, it couldn’t be too empty if he had the smarts to observe and catalogue, now could it?

She placed her chin in her hand. Mr Rupert T. Llewellyn made no sense. From all appearances, he was an English idiot—touched in the head, as her momma used to say—one with too much money and too little sense. He thought it proper to offer for a saloon, and insist where such insisting wasn’t wanted, regarding one with eyes too wide and too bright. Then his accent would slip from something refined and English-like to become something she’d never heard, a lyrical cadence that played along her spine and into her bones.

She blinked. What a fancified notion, a voice shivering along her bones. Next, she would be thinking his dark eyes soulful and imagining he had a decent reason for deception.

“Still staring?” Taking up the balustrade beside her, Pearl cast her gaze on the Englishman. “Has he done anything of interest as yet?”

“Nope. He just sits there nursing his drink, watching the world turn.” He was a study in contradiction, but before too long she would have Wade’s report, and she would know one way or the other. Glancing her friend’s way, she said, “Did you get Sally to stop her whoring?”

Pearl set her jaw. “We talked some. I don’t think she got any notion what she’s doing just ain’t right, nor fair to the other girls. Still, she’s got one last chance, and there won’t be another.”

She jostled the singer’s shoulder gently with her own. “It had to be done.”

“I know. I hate it though.” She exhaled. “Distract me. Tell me of your fancy-man down there.”

“Not much to tell. As I said, he sits there all quiet and eating the room with his eyes, and I would venture he’s had less than two fingers of that whiskey he’s pretending to like.” What was it he was looking at? What could be so interesting about the Diamond that he had a powerful need to just sit there? “He’s a puzzle, make no mistake.”

“One you mean to solve?”

She blinked. “Pardon?”

“Since when do you care if a man sits at a table by his lonesome all night? What is it about this one that has you so riled?”

Alice scowled. “He means to buy the Diamond. Why shouldn’t I watch him?” Turning, she found her friend regarding her with a grin that appeared a mite too gleeful. “What’s that look for?”

Pearl’s grin widened. “You like him. Mr English Handsome Man down there.”

“So? What’s that got to do with anything?” In the interest of prudence, and to prove she damn well could, she deliberately pushed herself from the balcony and turned her back on the saloon. Crossing her arms, she regarded her friend. “Did Garrett come in today?”

Pearl’s grin fled. Mutely, she tipped her chin toward the bar.

Ethan Garrett sat with his hand curled loose around his whiskey, his hat placed on the bar beside him. Straight blond hair brushed the collar of his shirt and a short blond beard covered his cheeks and jaw. His brows were a darker blond, and she knew they framed bright blue eyes. A leather vest covered his broad back, the muscles of his bicep pulling at his well-worn shirt as he lifted his glass to his lips. He was a fine-looking man, was Garrett, and for some reason Pearl absolutely loathed him.

“Has he said anything?” Alice asked.

Pearl scowled. “He came in, grunted something, and sat himself at the bar.”

Her lips twitched. “And did he, perchance, grunt anything approaching English?”

Pearl’s scowl grew fiercer. “He said he was wanting you and that he had things to speak of.”

“There. Now was that so hard?”

“There is a special place in Satan’s hell for you people like you.”

Grinning, Alice mock-curtseyed before making her way to Garrett. He looked at her as she approached, his gaze sliding past her a moment to where she’d left Pearl. His brows drew, but he said nothing as she seated herself beside him. “What are you drinking?”

“Whiskey, ma’am. Your finest,” he said in his soft-spoken tones. A faint smile touched his mouth. “Your barkeep wouldn’t give me anything else.”

“I’ll have one, too. Keep you company, while you’re telling me what needs to be said.” She flagged down Henry, who set the same whiskey before her. Her bar staff had instructions to only serve Garrett the best of whatever he asked for, no matter what he said. Her surveyor was a kind man whom she was certain had underquoted her and spent more time on her claim than he was contracted for. If she could repay that kindness a little with fine whiskey, it would go some ways to balancing the ledger between them. “What news do you bring?”

He turned the glass of whiskey in his hands, as if considering his words. She waited. She had learned Garrett spoke little, but every word carried weight as if he deliberated thoroughly on each thought. “It ain’t good, Mrs Reynolds,” he finally said.

Something inside her clenched. “The claim?”

He shook his head. “I’ve been hearing rumours out of Cheyenne. City folk are looking to buy claims around Ironwood, but they’re keeping it on the downlow. They’re offering less than the purchase price, but most are desperate enough to take it.”

Alice regarded him. A new seam of coal hadn’t been discovered in Ironwood in years, and most thought their claims weren’t worth the paper the deed was written on. Some still toiled on, more out of habit than anything else. Seth, though, had been convinced his claim was different, and Garrett through his testing thought the same. It could be these city folk knew something the people of Ironwood didn’t…or it could be they were just rumours, and only that.

Crossing her arms, she rubbed the bend of her elbow. Garrett had spoken before about Winchester Coal wanting to do business in Ironwood. She knew the Winchester man stayed at the Bartel boarding house, and he was looking to go back East with his family on account of the lack of interest he gained from Ironwood folk. If it had been Winchester again, Garrett would have just said. This, then, could only be something completely different. “Anything else?”

“Cornish- and Welsh-men are setting up camp on the edges of town, almost like they’re biding their time. If I had to guess, I would say a coal-mining company is looking to set up in Ironwood, and one day soon. They’ve paid those men their passage from Cornwall and Wales, and now they’re setting them up as cheap labour.”

“Winchester Coal?”

He shook his head. “Something larger than Winchester.”

Larger than Winchester. Christ Jesus. Winchester were the biggest player in all of Wyoming, perhaps even in Colorado as well, and for this company to be bigger meant they were probably based in the East, in a city like Chicago or even New York. If they were, they would have more money than God and the will to use it.

“Do you think I should sell?” she asked.

His hand tightened around his glass. “It ain’t my decision.”

“No. But I would like your opinion.”

He looked her direct. Bright blue eyes, the colour of the sky on a cloudless day, held hers. “I think there’s coal in your claim, Mrs Reynolds. I think I’ll find it, and when I do, you can make a better-informed decision. At the very least, they won’t be able to only offer a pittance.”

She nodded, her thoughts a tumble. Turning her contemplation to the saloon, she noted Llewellyn still occupied his table, still with a glass full of whiskey. She needed a distraction, and she had promised him a drink, hadn’t she? Llewellyn, if nothing else, was a distraction.

“If you have the time and the inclination, come by the claim.” Garrett’s blue eyes held hers steady. “It may be it will put your mind at ease.”

“May be it would.” She offered him a wan smile. “Thank you, Garrett.”

He tipped his head, his gaze sliding again to where Pearl was.

Murmuring a farewell, she made her way to Llewellyn’s table. The carpets muffled the click of her heels as she weaved through the patrons, and she nodded greetings to those who gave them. These greetings didn’t deter her from her purpose, and she arrived before Llewellyn’s table without his notice. She counted that somewhat of a feat, what with how he regarded the Diamond and her guests with such intensity. “Good evening, Mr Llewellyn. May I join you?”

Head swivelling toward her, he wore a look fraught with surprise before he covered the expression with an empty-headed grin. “Why Mrs Reynolds, this is a pleasure! Of course, dear lady, please sit.” Jumping to his feet, he rushed to the chair before her and pulled it out.

Hesitant, Alice sank into the chair he held. When was the last time a man had pulled a chair for her? Maybe Seth, when she had first come to Ironwood, however that was so long ago, it could be she confused what she had imagined with what had occurred. Manners and being all polite and such were of value, but they weren’t necessary. In Ironwood, sometimes you needed only what was necessary. Not that she required a man to hold her chair for her. She had two arms, and they worked as they ought. She could hold her own damn chair.

Llewellyn bounded back to his seat, and grinned as he folded his arms on the table. “To what do I owe this pleasure, Mrs Reynolds?”

His grin made her heart leap. Damn his prettiness, she’d have to be stone not to respond. “You seemed lonesome, Mr Llewellyn. What more reason is required than that? It seems to me you’ve been working on your glass for a mighty long time, though. Can we interest you in something a bit fresher?”

“Oh, I couldn’t trouble you.” Leaning forward, his dark eyes lured her to conspiracy. “I’ll tell you a secret—I cannot abide the stuff. However, I do believe one can train oneself to like things, do you not agree?”

See, now, this was why she was suspicious. He said all the right things, made all the right actions, but for a second—for less than a second—amusement burned in his eyes, almost as if he dared her to share the joke. It was like when his accent slipped all over again. She knew there was something beneath the buffoon, someone a hell of a lot smarter than he would have her believe. And if he weren’t a fool, then her damn inappropriate thoughts made sense. He weren’t what he was supposed to be, and of course she would find that intriguing.

Well hell. She would have to think on this a spell, and what such a thing might mean that she thought him so pretty.

As for the moment, his deception only made her want to pierce it. “I reckon you might be right. Why don’t we freshen your glass, and then we’ll see if we can’t teach you to adore something new.”

His eyes widened slightly. Quickly, though, he recovered. “It sounds a delightful plan! But I fear you have a task before you, to teach me such a thing.” Here he laughed heartily, but she fancied she heard an uncertainty laced beneath.

That decided her. She would try to befuddle him some. If nothing else, it would be entertaining to see if he could maintain the façade with a few drinks in him.

Gesturing to the barkeep, she maintained a genial smile as two glasses and the best bottle of whiskey the Diamond had were brought to the table. Llewellyn watched all this avidly, as if every action was of the utmost interest. He was good, she’d give him that. Taking up the bottle placed before her, she poured a finger of whiskey for both him and herself and set his glass before him.

Picking up the glass, he sniffed it cautiously. “While I do enjoy trying new things and learning a new appreciation for said things, I cannot believe I shall ever like this drink. It is a terrible failing on my part, but I’m sad to say I do not think my opinion shall change.”

“Come, you’ve not given me a chance to change your mind.” She traced the rim of the glass with her finger. “Once you allow the flavour upon your tongue, I’m certain you’ll swoon with delight.”

He seemed fascinated by the path of her finger on the glass. “If you believe so, then I will do my best.”

“I’m glad it’s so.” Lifting the glass, she studied its contents. “There is nothing quite like the enjoyment you get from a good whiskey. There’s the look and colour of it, and the way it burns in the light.”

“It’s the same colour as your eyes,” he breathed, his own wide and empty of thought.

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. That’s right, Llewellyn. Fool me into thinking there’s not an ounce of calculation to your words. “Is it? Mighty kind of you to notice.”

A happy grin was her response.

Well now, she was surely going to enjoy this. Setting her own half-smile, she tilted her glass, watching as the whiskey caught the light of the candle. “Have you ever noticed the feel of glass? It’s smooth against your fingers, and though the whiskey burns you, the glass is cool. It seems strange, doesn’t it? That such fire could come from something so cool.”

Intensely aware of his gaze upon her, she brought the glass to rest on her bottom lip. “You lift the glass to your lips, and all that coolness rests upon your flesh. The scent of the whiskey hits you, sweet and fiery. Your mouth waters, and you can’t wait to have it inside you. Slowly, so slowly, you tip the glass, teasing yourself as long moments in want of its taste stretch unbearably.”

He no longer wore a smile. Dark eyes watched her as strong fingers dug into the glass before him.

A prickle washed over her skin, her heart a steady beat in her chest. With hushed voice, she continued. “Liquid slides down your throat. The flavour explodes inside you, a glorious rush of sensation that overwhelms and consumes. You curl your tongue, enjoying the lingering sensation in every part of your mouth. Then, you look at the bottle.” Finally, she met his gaze direct. No subterfuge. No tease. “And you know you can do it again.”

She tipped the glass. The whiskey rushed down her throat, burning, and she flicked her tongue to catch the lingering taste on her lips.

Dark eyes locked with hers. Her chest rose and fell as if she’d run a race, and she couldn’t look from him. There was no hint of the fool about him now, every part of him still and trained upon her.

Damn, but she couldn’t catch her breath. Time seemed to become one long moment, containing him and her and his dark, dark eyes. Every part of her felt heavy and full, and her corset suddenly too tight. The lace of her chemise rubbed against her breasts, teasing her mercilessly.

“I couldn’t fail to enjoy such a beverage now,” he finally said, and she almost gasped as the tension broke. His words held a hint of that accent, the strangely lyrical one she found ridiculously alluring.

Heart beating frantically, she struggled for something to say. Lord above, what possessed her to undertake such a fool notion as a seduction? For such had been what she’d intended, an enticement to break him of his lie, but the intention had come back to bite her. Goddamn, how it bit.

Offering her brightest smile, she said, “It’s a fine thing indeed if I’ve changed your mind.”

The corner of his mouth turned up as he leant an arm against the back of his chair. “Indeed. So how is it one does this? You simply lift it to your lips and swallow?”

Thought deserted her. He had not resumed his pretence, his movements too precise for the buffoon he pretended. Regarding her steadily, he held the glass in his hand and awaited her direction. Mouth dry, she couldn’t look from him, from the still, intense expression on his face.

Dumbly, she nodded.

He put action to his words, knocking the whiskey back with a kind of grace. Slowly, he licked his lips to gather the lingering flavour. “It’s as you describe. Fire and coolness, all as one.”

Barely hearing his words, she watched the movement of his mouth and wondered if he’d taste of whiskey.

Lacing her fingers before her, she cursed as uncertainty filled her. Damn. Why was she so affected? He was a man, like any other. To be sure, he possessed a fine build, wide of shoulder and slim of hip, and she’d concede his dark eyes with their slashing brows were fetching. The paleness of his skin should make him appear lily-liveried, especially contrasted with the black of his hair, but instead it only made her want to find if it were as cool as it appeared.

And why shouldn’t she discover such a thing? He was not the fool he appeared, and it could be he were open to flirtation. She would think on it some, and decide how she wanted to proceed.

Abruptly, she stood. “Please enjoy the rest of your night. If you require anything, you have but to ask.”

She didn’t wait for his answer before she left.

 

***

 

IDIOTIC SMILE STRETCHING HIS face, Rupert maintained that particular fiction as he watched Alice cross the floor. She didn’t stop, not even when her redheaded friend sought her attention. She merely continued up the stairs and her friend followed, until they both disappeared into the office in which he had sat yesterday. Finally, he could relax, if only partially.

Bloody hell. What was that?

It had all started so innocently. He’d come here this evening, certain in the belief Mrs Reynolds wouldn’t be able to resist gracing him with her company. Only an hour and a half passed before he’d been proven correct. At first, everything had proceeded as planned. He’d adopted his crisp, posh English accent, channelling stupidity to the nth degree, and she’d seemed to believe it.

Then she’d described whiskey.

Rubbing his jaw, he cursed himself. There was no way on God’s green earth he should have been as affected as he was. She had merely strung words together, everyday words and none of the naughty ones. Yet with those same words she’d had him so wound up he had to grip the seat of his chair to prevent leaping across the blasted table to see if she had tasted as good as the bloody whiskey she had described. He was not often taken with a particular woman, but he was with her. Taken.

Damn. This was a complication he didn’t need.

Tilting the full glass she’d left before him, he studied the whiskey. For another half an hour he would sit in his seat, pretend to consume the whiskey, and then he would leave. There was no point in attempting observation. She’d destroyed his concentration.

This was most definitely a complication he didn’t need.