Chapter Ten

 

 

...WITH A MINESHAFT SUNK to a depth of 207 feet, the coal seam could be accessed at its farthest point, facilitating ease of extraction via explosives to produce rock cut. While a preparation plant would be ideal, the large-scale nature of the construction would be infeasible in the first months of production. Recommendation is to transport all produced rock cut to Cheyenne for processing and preparation, thereby allowing for...

From there, the report descended into technical jargon, none of which made a lick of sense. Rubbing her eyebrow, Alice stared at the pages before her. Reading Garrett’s reports was an exercise in torture.

With a sigh, she pushed back from her desk and laced her hands over her stomach. The most she could fathom from the surveyor’s report was the whole process would be pricey. Maybe even too pricey. Building a mine, staffing it, transporting the coal to Cheyenne…all of that cost money she didn’t have. The Spectacular had begun to pay for itself and a few trinkets aside, but if she sunk her profits into coal mining, it could be years before she saw a return. She’d have no money to put on a Spectacular. At least, not a Spectacular worthy of the name.

Exhaling, she rubbed her temples. For all the headaches it was giving, she might as well sell the land and be done with it. She’d only held on to it after Seth’s passing out of a sense of misguided sentiment, and it wasn’t until she’d gone through some papers last spring she’d reckoned the claim could be worth a penny or two, though Seth had always been convinced of its value.

A smile tugged at her, one that was sad and fond and happy all at once. If only he’d gotten off his ass and engaged a surveyor, he would have gotten a kick out of being proven right.

Her gaze drifted back over the pages before her. If she sold the claim, it could be she’d have enough to move to Paris.

Something warm and bubbly lit up within her at the thought. Ever since she had spoken with Llewellyn, she couldn’t stop thinking of it. She could move to Paris. She could take her ideas, of dances and songs and burlesque, and try her hand at the Parisian stage. She could find a small theatre in Montmartre, make it into an exaggerated version of the Diamond and start a burlesque, growing it larger with each success. She could do all that. Llewellyn believed in her.

In all her life, she’d only had herself to rely on. Seth had been her husband, but she could never broach such things with him. Only once had she gathered the courage to talk to him of it, and he’d smiled and gently refused. He’d done as much as he ever wanted with theatre back in Chicago, he’d said, and he was happy to leave it in his past. She’d laughed it off, said it was a fancy…and yet it had taken less than a turn of the seasons before she’d made her first tentative plans to build a theatre, had grown the Diamond Theatre and Burlesque into something that supported her and hers, providing each of the people looking to her for shelter and employment with what they deserved. She had made it so they knew the Spectacular’s name in Cheyenne and San Francisco, and all the places in-between. She had done that.

How was it then, when she’d done so much by her own self, that the opinion of one man could mean everything?

And yet it did. When Llewellyn had said, with all enthusiasm and vigour, she could do nothing but succeed in Paris, every part of her had leapt. She wanted him to believe in her. She wanted him to be proud.

And she wanted him to come with her.

She wanted to take Paris by storm, and she wanted Llewellyn to be there at her side, to share her triumph. She wanted to complain to him of overly dramatic divas and petulant leading men. She wanted that when she discovered where the best bolts of cloth were sold, he would be there to tell. She wanted to fall asleep with him and wake with his arms still around her, his hair sticking up every which way as he sleepily kissed her good morning. What was keeping her in Ironwood, anyway? Not a lot, really. The Diamond. The claim. Pearl, and the responsibility to provide for her people.

Fear she would fail.

Exhaling, she rested her head in her hands. She could fail, so badly. Now, she had the dream of Paris, but if she tried and it blew up in her face, she wouldn’t even have that. She’d just have memories of her time in Paris, and how she’d failed.

She didn’t know what to do. Usually, when she didn’t feel strongly one way or the other, she’d go annoy Pearl for a spell, until the thoughts sorted themselves in her head. But this time, she was muddled something awful, and not even their banter would solve what was troubling her.

Besides, Pearl was part of her problem. If she left for Paris, would Pearl come, too? True, her friend had travelled from Chicago upon her asking, and true, Pearl had stayed far longer than either of them had expected in this all-too-new town. But to give up a home and a country was a mighty ask for anyone. And what would she do without Pearl?

The rap of knuckles against her door drew her from questions with no answers. For a moment, her heart leapt, but of course it wouldn’t be Llewellyn. It was the middle of the day, and they both had work to do before they saw the other again. It weren’t Llewellyn’s knock anyways, though it had a bit of fancy and flourish to it.

Tidying herself, she stood. “Enter.”

The man who entered was of an age with her, but his roguish grin and loose demeanour made him seem much younger. Jet black hair slightly dampened with sweat curled around his temples, and bright black eyes gleamed at her. His duster and trousers showed signs of travel, and his boots were scuffed and worn. However, the dual pistols he wore at his hips gleamed as though meticulously kept, and though his stance was lackadaisical, there was still the notion the man could turn dangerous in the blink of an eye if he had such a notion to.

Alice levelled her gaze on him. “I had no idea you were in town, Wade.”

Jacob Wade’s grin widened as he sat himself in the chair opposite her desk without awaiting an invitation. “Only just arrived, ma’am. Or maybe it’s been a day or two, but you hired me for a job and I couldn’t get that job done if I were announcing my presence all fanfare-like.”

Crossing her arms, she regarded him sourly. Just under a month ago, he’d sent a reply telegram to accept her job and then she hadn’t heard from him since. “I would have appreciated you letting me know along the way what your progress was. As it was, I was starting to believe you’d decided against working for my coin.”

“I would never refuse coin, Mrs Reynolds, especially not from as fine a lady as yourself.”

“So you’ve been gathering information, then?”

“That I have.”

When he said no more, she prompted, “And what have you discovered?”

“This and that.” He looked over his shoulder. “Is Miz Pearl about?”

“Wade.” At her tone, he turned his black gaze back to her. “Why are you here?”

“Why is any of us here? For some whiskey, some women, and some song.”

Ignoring his flippancy, she said, “My surveyor has information for you.”

The bounty hunter smiled lazily. “Does he?”

“Don’t you want to know what information he has?”

“Not particularly.”

As evenly as she could, she asked, “How do you know if you don’t need it if you don’t know what it is?”

“Still don’t need anything from that stiff-necked prig.”

She gritted her teeth and counted to ten. When that didn’t quite work, she counted to twenty. “Wade, I ask again” she said. “Why are you here?”

Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Got information for you.”

“About?”

“About your man Llewellyn.”

She went cold. Wade sat there lounging in his chair, a grin on his lips and his gaze upon her. She didn’t know what to say. Now that he was here, now that he had the information she’d contracted him for, she wasn’t sure she wanted it, wasn’t sure that everything she’d ever wondered about Llewellyn, she wouldn’t have cause to wonder any more.

But—and damn her twice as a fool for wanting it—she wanted him to tell her. She wanted Rupert to look her in the eye and tell her for himself why he was in Ironwood. No report was going to give her what he could—his trust.

She rubbed a hand over her face. How could she have anticipated this path she and Llewellyn walked? Maybe it was she’d felt a spark of interest when she’d first contacted Wade, but she never could have guessed she would end up with him in her bed and a desire for him to journey with her to another country.

He was close to telling her. Any day now, he would take her hands, look her square, and tell her of his purpose in Ironwood. Last night, he’d lain beside her and told her his life before he’d left Wales, of working on the docks shovelling coal, of his scam to get into the offices of the wharf. With a smile, he’d said that was where he learned if you acted different to your nature, you could get what you wanted. He’d looked confident, lied he was older than he was, lied of his skills, and soon he’d had a job where he wasn’t coughing up coal dust.

He would tell her next what brought him to Ironwood. He had to.

“Well, Mrs Reynolds?” Stretching, Wade laced his fingers behind his head. “You want your information or not?”

Chewing her lip, she stared at him. God strike her down for a fool, but she wasn’t waiting any longer.

Before she could change her mind, she nodded.

“Rupert T. Llewellyn. Ostensibly from London, England.” Wade recited methodically. “In actually, Rupert Trahearn Llewellyn was born in Bagillt, Wales, which is one of those countries near England. Can’t says as I’ve ever heard of it, but there’s a first time for everything. Father unknown. Mother died when he was eleven and by then he’d been working in coal mines like his uncles for three years. After her death, he made his way to Cardiff—that’s a big city in Wales—where he was employed on the docks. Eventually, he found employment with Davies & Cooper Mining Co, scouting for coal deposits and purchasing from those keen to sell. Came to America six or so years ago, in the employ of Wyoming Coal & Mining. He employed his man, Donald Smith, upon his arrival and they’ve been touring the frontier purchasing claims on behalf of the company. Most likely he’s in Ironwood to ascertain land for purchase.” Wade’s smile turned a little compassionate. “You have a claim, don’t you, Mrs Reynolds?”

Alice stared at him, unable to respond. Llewellyn had lied. He had lied, over and over again.

Blood drained from her. Light-headed, dizzy, she grasped the edge of her desk.

Wade leapt from his seat but she waved him away. Pain rushed through her, intense and bright. She felt as if her insides had been skewered and were broken and mangled beyond what could ever be repaired.

For a month, he’d slept in her bed. For a month, he’d held her and kissed her and laughed with her, and in all that time, he’d been playing at something so much worse than the fool. He’d been pretending he cared. His kisses, his passion, the belief that had shined from him when he’d told her she could conquer Paris, the belief that had lighted her up and made her think it was a thing she could do. She hadn’t told anyone of her desire for Paris, not ever, and he’d used it—no, he’d encouraged her—to go…all a tactic in service to his employer.

He’d done it—all of it—for a piece of goddamn land.

“Mrs Reynolds?” She heard Wade ask, his tone filled with trepidation. She smiled grimly. Now, he acted serious. Now, when she felt ripped apart.

She wanted to summon fury, she wanted to summon anger, but it wouldn’t come, smothered by the pain. He’d fooled her , thoroughly and true. He’d made her believe he cared, made it so she’d thought…she’d almost thought she might love him.

But she couldn’t let him have that. She couldn’t let him see how thoroughly he’d duped her. She had to focus on the lies. Focus on the humiliation, and indignation, and all the anger in between. Think on how he must have laughed, how he must have discussed her with Smith, plotting how to get the land from the stupid widow besotted with his cock. Focus on that, and never remember dark eyes regarding her with warmth. Forget the soft whisper of his touch against her cheek, the way his fingers had played with her hair.

She looked up. Wade hovered over his chair, half-standing, his expression drawn in concern. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him so serious. “Thank you, Wade,” she said, and even she couldn’t believe the evenness of her tone. “You may go.”

“Mrs Reynolds, I don’t think I should—Can I get Miz Pearl?”

“No.” She smoothed her hands over her stomach. “You may go.”

Hesitant still, Wade did as she bade, closing the door behind him.

Grimly, she planned her next move. She would confront Llewellyn. She would tell him she knew. She would tell him he could purchase her land on behalf of his employer, and then she would tell him she never wanted to see him again. She would use the proceeds to go to Paris, and she would forget Rupert T. Llewellyn ever existed.

And she would tell herself it didn’t break her to do so.