A Touch of Frost

by Jo Goodman

  He opened her vest and his fingers scrabbled to pull the tails of her shirt out of her trousers. She relieved him of his jacket and vest and then went for his fly. His sudden whoop of laughter startled her and she paused, raising her head to look at him. She followed the line of his gaze and saw he was looking at the blanket she had unfolded on the grass.

  “Just saw that, did you?” she asked, rising on her toes to kiss him on the mouth.

  “Picnic?”

  She shook her head. “Not unless you brought food. I ate before I rode out here.”

  He bent his head, nuzzled her neck, and whispered against her skin. “I am very glad to hear it.” He thrust his hips forward and she resumed releasing the buttons on his fly. He attended to the matter of her shirt.

  At some point there was mutual, if silent, agreement that they would be better served by managing their own clothes. They shucked articles until they were satisfied with the state of their undress and then Remington scooped Phoebe into his arms and bore her down to the blanket.

  Hunger could not quite mask discomfort and there were awkward moments between kisses as Phoebe tried to remove a sharp stone from under her shoulder and Remington jammed his knee into another. They winced, but their urgency also made them laugh, and it was just as Phoebe hoped it would be with the laughter residing in their hearts.

  Her body had been preparing for him from the moment she saw him flying toward her. Given the state of his readiness, she believed it had been the same for him. She welcomed him into the cradle of her thighs and wrapped her legs around him. He thrust deep, pushing hard, and it was not a wince that changed her features this time, it was a whimper.

  “God, Phoebe.” He strained to reach her mouth, nudged her lips open, and used his tongue to match the carnal rhythm of their bodies. She held him close, and there, in that place between her thighs where he fit so snugly, she held him closer still.

  Her smile was vaguely wicked and a bit secretive when he raised his head. She did not look away. Her palm ran up his arm, across his shoulder, and rested against the curve of his neck. He rocked her back. She gasped, sucked a deep breath, and then her body was trembling and he felt every one of her intimate contractions. She tripped the single nerve that was holding him taut and together. Remington arched, tensed, and finally embraced release.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  They lay side by side as their hearts returned to normal rhythms and their breathing eased into silence. Phoebe found his hand and laid hers lightly on top of it. She stroked the backs of his fingers and then threaded hers between them. The sun was behind them and it was possible to stare at the endless blue sky without being blinded. The clouds were high and thin and trailed one another like wisps of smoke until they simply dissolved into the ether.

  “It’s been very hard for me to say the words,” Phoebe said. “I don’t exactly know why except that I’ve had so little cause to use them that I suppose I needed to be sure I wouldn’t choke on them.” She turned her head sideways and regarded him in profile. It was probably better for what she wanted to say that he was not looking at her, but it had not occurred to her that he might have fallen asleep. His eyes were closed. That was disappointing.

  “Remington?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Oh, you’re awake.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Then you heard me.”

  “I heard a lot of words. You didn’t choke on any of them.”

  “That’s because . . . well, never mind. I should just say them.”

  “Probably best to get it done. One of us has to go first.”

  That made her smile. She spoke quietly, solemnly, giving the moment the importance it deserved. “I do love you, you know.”

  He opened his eyes and turned his head. “I had a suspicion, but mostly I had hope.” His fingers tightened against hers. “I love you, Phoebe Apple. Early on, I fought it some. The idea of it, you understand. Wrestled with it, I’d guess you’d say.”

  She rolled on her side toward him, lifted her head, and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “I wouldn’t say that. No one would say that. You surrendered, same as me, but sometimes you have to wave the white flag to know for sure.”

  Chuckling, Remington lifted their clasped hands a few inches off the ground and gave them a little shake. “Waving the white flag now,” he said. “Now and forever.”

  Phoebe’s smile deepened. “That was nice.”

  “Mm.” He lowered their hands. “I have my moments.”

  “You do. I like it when I’m in them.”

  “It’s hard for me to think of a time these last few months when you weren’t. I mean it, Phoebe. It was hard being away.”

  She nodded. “For me, too. Before you left, I wanted to tell you that I had been thinking about my wedding dress, but it was not—”

  He released her hand, sat up, and leaned over her, trapping her with a stiff arm on either side of her shoulders. “Tell me when you’re going to be wearing it and surprise me with the rest. I promise I’ll be there.”

  Phoebe laughed. “I think the when is something we need to decide to together. There are considerations, I believe, unless you tell me that Sheriff Brewer no longer needs you. Is that true?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think so. I’m disappointed, not surprised.”

  Nodding, Remington sat up and began straightening his clothes. Items that belonged to Phoebe and were in easy reach, he passed along, not because he felt any urgency to see her dressed, but because she distracted him when she wasn’t. “We found John Manypenny,” he told her, pulling on his shirt. “That took longer than either of us thought it would, but the good news is that no one else found him first. He’d read about Blue and Miss Carolina in the Rocky, but the details and the consequences had to be explained to him. When we left him, he was planning on exchanging his ticket and heading back to Denver to resign from his job with Reynolds Liquors. I believe he intends to visit his sister in Jefferson City. After what he heard, it’s likely he is considering permanent residency.”

  “You must have put the fear of God into him.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Was he helpful?”

  “He was.” Remington rose to his knees to fasten his trousers. “Jackson and I are fairly confident that Manypenny purchased the ring directly from the men who stole it. He told us that he was shown a variety of pieces, and based on when he was shown them, it was early days yet. The thieves were just beginning to get rid of the property. It’s unlikely they found anyone so quickly to do it for them.”

  Remington reached for his vest but didn’t put it on. Instead, he patted it down and found the small notepad and pencil in the inside pocket. He showed them to Phoebe. “Thank you for these. They came in handy.”

  “And you thought you only needed a gun. The pen is mightier . . .” She pointed to the notepad as he opened it. “Don’t keep me in suspense. Tell me.”

  “Manypenny didn’t have names for us, but he claimed to be good with faces.”

  “You made sketches?”

  Remington arched an eyebrow. “No. No talent for it. But I did write down what he described. Only two men approached him, Phoebe.”

  “Not Mr. Shoulders, then.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  She shrugged. “The pair hiding behind the blue bandannas worked together. They collected the jewelry, the guns, the reticules. Mr. Shoulders was a presence, a constant threat, and he directed them while they were on the train, but later, it was less clear to me that he was in charge. They were not afraid to argue with him, and one was comfortable speaking for the other, as if they had a long-standing connection. He was the odd man out.”

  Remington glanced at his notes then at her. “From what Manypenny said, they could be kin. Brothers, but probably not twins. Cousins at least.” He read to her
from what he had written. “Brown hair cropped close at the neck. Brown eyes, set wide. Narrow face.” He shrugged. “I guess that’s why the eyes seemed wide-set.” He looked back at his notes. “No obvious missing teeth but all of them on the yellow side. No chin. Fair skinned. No facial hair. Oh, and here’s something to distinguish the pair. One of them had a flat bridge. Manypenny guessed a broken nose that was never properly set. They were wearing what you’d expect. I don’t see anything different here from what you described them wearing on the train.”

  Phoebe nodded. “Fiona says the hands at Twin Star look alike to her because they all wear the same thing. She’s not far wrong. She didn’t know who Les Brownlee was until I told her he was the one with the weak chin. An unfortunate distinguishing feature is what she called it.”

  Remington closed the notepad. “When she’s right, she’s—”

  “No chin,” said Phoebe.

  “What?”

  “Les Brownlee doesn’t have a chin. Well, he does, but it sits so far back in his face that it might as well not be there.”

  “That’s true, but I’ve known Les for years. If you’re thinking that—”

  She interrupted him again. “I wasn’t. Just picturing him, getting it straight in my mind. If you could draw what you wrote down, you’d have a near perfect image of Les Brownlee. That’s odd, don’t you think? Brown hair. Brown, wide-set eyes in a narrow face. Ruddy complexion, though, but that’s because he spends almost every waking hour out of doors. Clean shaven, at least most of the time, and I’d say he takes better care of his teeth, but there you have it. Oh, and his nose is straight, so I suppose he better resembles the one whose nose was never broken.”

  Remington put the notepad and pencil away. “It’s not much to go on, is it?”

  “Not if it means you’re going to arrest Les Brownlee or every other man who looks like him.”

  “That’d mean taking in a lot of the Brownlees and fair number of their kin. It’s a big family, and among the ones I know, that no chin feature makes a regular appearance.”

  “It’s like a brand, isn’t it?” she said, grinning. “Little wonder they hid behind those bandannas. Maybe you should round them all up. Cut them from the herd the way you do the unweaned calves.” She finished yanking on a boot and looked up at him. He was not smiling. On the contrary, his face had no expression. He was a man struck dumb. “What? You know I’m not—”

  Remington bent, grabbed her by elbows, and hauled her to her feet. “It doesn’t matter what you’re not.” He kissed her hard on the mouth. “It matters what you are, and what you are is exceptionally clever.”

  “But I—”

  He kissed her again.

  Phoebe had trouble catching her breath when he finally lifted his head. She could feel the heat of a deep flush in her cheeks. Her eyes felt wide and vaguely unfocused. She pressed fingertips against her lips and spoke from behind them. “Oh, my. Perhaps you are a mythic creature.” It wasn’t important that he didn’t understand so Phoebe did not try to explain. “You have an idea, I take it.”

  “I have your idea,” he said. “And I’m taking it. Brewer is coming out this evening. I told him I wouldn’t stay in town if I could be here. He said he’d come to me after he stopped in his office. Charlie Hopewell was left to hold down the fort while we were gone. That’s Charlie from the land office. Good with paperwork, not so good with a gun.” Remington picked up his gun belt and strapped it on. “You can sit with us if you like.”

  “I wasn’t going to wait for an invitation.”

  Because he was expecting a response along those lines, he grinned as he looked her over. “Your shirt’s buttoned wrong.” He brushed her hands aside and did her up correctly, taking more time than was strictly necessary just because she was letting him. “I asked after you first thing when I got back. Funny, but it was Les who told me you were out here. I didn’t ask after Thaddeus or Fiona, but I saw the buggy was gone so I figured they were somewhere together.”

  “They left the morning after you did. You should probably be sitting down, but they went to Liberty Junction. They’re staying at the Boxwood. I thought they’d be back by now, but there might be several good reasons why they’re not.”

  “I think I’d like to hear those.”

  Phoebe picked up her vest and put it on. “It’s possible Thaddeus is still trying to wrangle the truth out of Fiona, or that she’s told him the truth already and they are either engaged in further argument or taking their time about making up. It’s all likely. One can never tell with Fiona.”

  “And the truth according to Fiona? Do I want to know?” He walked over to where the horses were grazing and untethered Mrs. McCauley. “Well?” he asked when Phoebe didn’t say anything.

  “I don’t know if I want to tell you,” Phoebe said. “It seems as if you’ve already closed your mind. Probably your ears, too.”

  “I’m listening. Promise.” He walked the horses back to where she was standing and gave her the mare’s reins. “Leg up?” When she nodded, he gave her a boost and then looked around to see if they had collected everything. All that was left was the blanket. He folded and rolled it and attached it to Mrs. McCauley.

  Phoebe said, “Fiona has it in her mind that Thaddeus and Ellie have been lovers for years. She acquits your father of being an adulterer, but not of not being tempted.”

  Remington mounted. “But not of not being tempted,” he said more to himself than to her. “Yes, I think I understand.”

  “Good.” Phoebe urged the mare forward and waited for Remington to come abreast. “I asked her what evidence she had to support her thinking, and she did not hesitate.”

  “Ben,” said Remington. “She told you Ben was Thaddeus’s son.”

  Phoebe almost lost her seat.

  “Careful,” he said when she wobbled and shifted.

  She recovered and stared at him. “How did you know?”

  He shrugged. “Fiona’s not the first person to think it. People have been saying it as long as Ben’s been alive. Maybe before he was born. It’s not surprising. I told you Ellie came to work for us when my mother was confined to bed with her last pregnancy. She did not arrive with Ben in arms; he was born later. People will think what they will. There’s no changing that.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t,” he said. “Think about it, I mean. There’s only one person who knows, and that’s Ellie. If Ben is my father’s son, then Ellie never told Thaddeus. I know she didn’t because he’s never claimed Ben as his own. He would do that. He wouldn’t raise him like a son. He’d raise him as his son. There would be no rumor. There would be fact.”

  “If Thaddeus never slept with Ellie, then he also knows the truth.”

  “That’s right.”

  “But you think he may have.”

  “I think it’s possible,” he said. “My mother died. He was grieving. He might have sought comfort in Ellie’s bed. Once. Twice. I don’t know. I was a child. If it happened at all, I don’t believe it was an affair of long standing.”

  Phoebe lowered the brim of her hat as they began to descend the ridge. “I wonder what he’ll say to Fiona. She talked to me about leaving; this might be his only chance to convince her to stay.”

  “She doesn’t have the means to purchase a ticket.”

  “Two tickets,” said Phoebe. “She wants me to go with her, or rather she wants me to leave and will go along as my escort. And she does have the means, or so she says. Not in hand, but she’s had the offer.” She saw that surprised him. “Ellie. Ellie offered her money. Just around a thousand dollars. I know, it seemed strange to me, but Fiona says it’s because Ellie wants her gone that badly. Fiona swears she didn’t ask for it. The money wouldn’t only be for the tickets; it would pay for an apartment and essentials until Fiona and I could find work. In the event that there is any doubt in your mi
nd, I told her no.”

  “No doubt,” he said. “But still good to know. It’s not impossible to believe that Ellie wants Fiona gone. She’s been a burr under Ellie’s saddle since she arrived, and only part of that can be explained by Ellie being in love with my father.”

  “So you think Fiona’s right about that?”

  “I think Fiona is likely to be more aware of it than any of the rest of us.”

  “She said something like that to me. Told me to stand in her shoes and I would know. When she said Ben was Thaddeus’s son, I believed it and wondered how I hadn’t seen it for myself.” Out of the corner of her eye, Phoebe saw him nod and realized he was not at all disturbed by her confession. “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  “Mm. Thinking about the money. Wondering how Ellie came by it.”

  “I thought you’d know, but I can explain. It’s from the mine. Her husband’s partners bought her out after he died. She’s saved it for Ben, but apparently she’s willing to part with it to see the last of Fiona.”

  “What mine? What partners?”

  “Um, I don’t know. Don’t you?”

  “This is the first I’m hearing of it.”

  “Thaddeus must know. It was so long ago, and as you said, you were a child. No reason that anyone would have talked to you about it. She showed Fiona a savings book from the bank. The money is there.”

  “Huh. I’m a little surprised Ben never said a word. You’d think it would be something he’d know.”

  “That seems likely. According to Fiona, his name’s on the savings book.”

  Remington said nothing, but his expression was thoughtful.

  Phoebe said, “I’m hoping Fiona will tell it all to your father. He can sort it out.”