A Touch of Frost

by Jo Goodman

  “Couldn’t tell you. Too many people here I don’t know, have never seen before, and am likely to never see again.”

  “He looks familiar,” she said, studying the man as he matched Fiona’s steps. He was tall, slim-hipped, and broad-shouldered. Unlike many of the men present—Remington and Thaddeus also being notable exceptions—he wore a high-buttoned, single-breasted box-cut suit, black peg-top trousers, and a black vest. Under the vest was a crisp white shirt, and above it was a high, stiff collar. In spite of his exertions, he looked at his ease and, most miraculously, managed to keep his felt derby secured on his head. His dark hair and mustache were neatly trimmed, his beard only a little less so. He could have been a professional gambler or an undertaker, Phoebe thought, but what he wasn’t was a no-chin relative of Les Brownlee’s. That eased her mind.

  “I should cut him out,” said Thaddeus. He didn’t move, though. Instead, he sighed. “She looks very well on his arm, doesn’t she? And he’s of an age with her.”

  “What does that have to do with anything? Besides, I just realized why he caught my eye earlier. He was on Ellie’s arm. I think he’s her escort. Get back in there, Thaddeus, before there’s scratching and clawing and someone’s dress is left in tatters.”

  “But . . . my beer.”

  Phoebe placed her hand on his back and gave him a less than gentle shove. “Never fear. Handy will find you.” She stood and continued to nudge him toward the dancing. “Likewise, I’m off to find my husband. If you have any kindness in your heart, you will not organize a search party for us.”

  Chapter Forty-one

  Phoebe opened the door to the bunkhouse and poked her head inside. There was indeed a card game. She attempted a reproving look but couldn’t manage to sustain it. The men crowded around the table were regarding her with apologetic expressions largely softened by too much drink. Chief among the penitents was the man presiding over the game by virtue of his status and his winnings.

  “Hello, Judge.”

  “Ma’am.” The Honorable Judge Miner waved a hand over the table, an invitation implicit in the gesture. “Come. Sit. Poker’s a woman’s game as much as a man’s. Mr. Sutton will give you his chair. Go on, boy. Get up.”

  Johnny’s chair scraped the floor as he began to push away from the table.

  Phoebe opened the door a few inches wider and put out a hand to stop him. “No. Stay where you are, Johnny. Thank you, Judge. Men. I’m looking for Remington . . . my husband. I was led to believe you hustled him in here. Up to no good is the consensus. What did you do with him?”

  It was Scooter who answered. “Teased him some, had a couple of shots. Mostly he humored us. Said he was going to dance with his bride and then he left.”

  “He wasn’t exactly walkin’ a straight line,” said Arnie. “Not staggering, but not the straight and narrow, if you know what I mean.”

  “I think I do. It’s all right. I’ll find him. I have an idea where he’d go.” She looked around the table a second time. “Where’s Ben? I thought he’d be with you.”

  Arnie and Ralph shrugged in unison. Johnny spoke up. “He left before Remington. Said he wanted to spend time with Ellie. He’s a mama’s boy, that one.”

  This brought a hoot of laughter since the other hands often described Johnny Sutton in just that manner. Phoebe waited until the laughter subsided and young Johnny’s ears were marginally less crimson. “Good night, gentlemen. Judge, don’t take unfair advantage.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Phoebe knew when she was being placated. Shaking her head, she ducked out and headed for the barn. Because no one knew what the weather would bring, the barn had been cleaned to accommodate the guests, the food, and the dancing. The stalls had not merely been mucked, they had been scoured. The horses were penned farther afield, but the scent of them lingered. Bales of fresh hay were stacked steplike against the back wall to provide additional seating, and more bales lined the interior of the stalls.

  Phoebe stood just inside the door, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dark. The barn was quiet, almost eerily so. She was more aware of the absence of the animals in a way she hadn’t been earlier when Thaddeus and Remington had invited her to inspect the work. She had been able to see everything then. At the moment she was relying on her memory of the space.

  “Remington?” She said his name tentatively, barely raising her voice above a whisper. It was absurd to call for him so quietly, especially when she could hear the fiddles and banjo playing across the way and the voices of the guests raised in song, but something about the barn, with its high ceiling and wide-open entrance, put her in mind of a church and she felt a certain reverence for the sanctuary.

  She carefully picked her way around the scattered bales of hay and headed toward the loft ladder. There had been talk about removing it to keep guests out of the loft. It wasn’t out of the question that there could be drunken mishaps, either an accidental fall or a dare to dive. Instead of taking the ladder away, they lined the loft’s edge with heavy bales of hay to form a barrier. A country balustrade, Thaddeus called it. Phoebe wondered if her husband was passed out behind it now. She set one hand on a rung and hiked up her billowing skirt with the other. “Remington?”

  She thought she heard a stirring overhead, but it could have been the rustle of her taffeta petticoat. She started to climb. “I’m considering divorcing you, Remington. I’m also considering shooting you. I might do both.”

  Phoebe had to tread carefully. Her gown had substantial weight and her white kid boots were not meant to grip anything like the narrow slats of the ladder. She did not look down, though it occurred to her that once she found Remington, the descent would be considerably trickier than the climb.

  When she reached the top and could peer through the narrow opening between the bales, she was no longer so certain that Remington was behind them. She carefully made the transition from ladder to loft, mostly by crawling on her knees and yanking her gown out from under her.

  Far from being passed out or in any stage of inebriation, Remington was awake and alert. As soon as Phoebe appeared from between the bales, he grabbed her under her shoulders and hauled her the rest of the way through. His hand covered her mouth before she could squeal, shout, or otherwise protest.

  He placed his lips near her ear. “Shh.” He felt her nod but did not entirely trust her. “I mean it, Phoebe. You must be quiet.” She nodded again, this time with more promise behind it, and he removed his hand. “You have to take off that petticoat,” he whispered. “It’s like a scurry of squirrels passing through the underbrush every time you move. Quickly.” It was gratifying that she did not question him, but she still did not move swiftly enough to suit. Remington batted her hands out of the way and reached under her gown for the ribbons that held her petticoat in place. Try as he did to keep it quiet, removing the taffeta was a noisy affair. When he finally got it off, he tossed it as far away from them as he could. Once it landed, blessed silence followed.

  It lasted only as long as it took Phoebe to find her voice. “What are we doing?” she whispered.

  “Waiting.” He paused a beat and then added, “Quietly.”

  She nodded. “For what?”

  He sighed. “I’m not sure.”

  Phoebe wondered if he thought that was a reasonable answer because she certainly did not. In deference to his command for quiet, she spoke as softly as was possible. “You have to explain that.”

  “Ben told me to come up here. There’s something he wants me to hear. He’s arranging it now. I can’t tell you more because I don’t know more, but he was adamant. He said it was something he had to do.”

  “Had to do?”

  “Hmm. Or he couldn’t call himself any sort of man.”

  Phoebe’s eyes widened. “Ben said that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t liquor talking? I never sa
w him without a drink in his hand after the ceremony.”

  “Maybe, or maybe drink helped him speak his mind. Now you know what I know. Shh.” Remington released her, but not before planting a kiss on her mouth. As soon as she inched away, he stretched out on his belly exactly as he had been before she began climbing the ladder. A moment later she was lying beside him, mirroring his posture right down to the way he raised himself on his forearms.

  Remington’s eyes had had sufficient time to adjust to the dark interior of the barn. He was helped by slivers of moonlight seeping through cracks in the walls and threading through needlelike openings in the roof. He looked sideways at Phoebe and recalled that she had seemed ethereal when she stepped off the porch this afternoon. That was even truer now. “Otherworldly” was a word that came to his mind. The gown that had gleamed in the sunshine was a cool and ghostly silver-blue thanks to the moonlight.

  In spite of his insistence on silence, there was something he had to know. “Why are you here?”

  As far as Phoebe was concerned, it was the wrong question. He should have been asking why she had come looking for him, in which case she would have explained that, as his wife of less than one day, she had the right to expect that he would not wander away like a pup off its leash. It was perhaps a harsh criticism, but then she was not feeling particularly charitable, and although the kiss had been rather nice, she would not be placated so easily.

  Still, she answered him because there was obviously more going on than he could properly tell her and curiosity trumped truculence. “I tried the bunkhouse first because Handy saw you being hustled off there. When the men told me you’d left, I thought of where I would go if I desired a few moments alone and was willing to shuck my responsibilities to my guests, my family, and my husband.” She thought he might have winced, but she couldn’t be sure. “And here you are, exactly where I would be. Or rather, where I am.”

  “Did I know your tongue was this sharp when I married you?”

  “You should have. You kissed me often enough.”

  He very nearly gave a shout of laughter. What he did, though, was kiss her, long and deeply, and satisfied himself that he knew the shape of her tongue. He spoke softly, his mouth hardly a hairbreadth from hers. “I’m glad you found me.”

  “Are you?”

  “Mm. Aside from the obvious benefits of having you this close, one of us missing from the revelry was bound to raise eyebrows, but if both of us are missing . . . Well, that’s more or less expected.”

  Phoebe placed her hands on Remington’s shoulders and pushed him back. She squinted at his shadowed features. “Don’t get any ideas.”

  Remington rolled over and took up his previous position. “I don’t know how long we’ll have to wait. Did anyone see you come in here?”

  “I imagine so. Maybe you didn’t notice, but I’m the only one wearing white.”

  A chuckle rose in his throat and then lodged there as the barn door swung open on noisy hinges. He looked over at Phoebe to make sure she had also heard it. Her head was up; she was alert. He did not bother putting a finger to his lips.

  Ellie Madison stopped a few feet over the threshold. “I can’t see a thing, Ben. Did you bring a lantern?”

  “No. Give it a minute. I didn’t want to attract attention.” He held the door open long enough to allow Natty Rahway to enter then he shut it.

  Natty said, “I saw the new Mrs. Frost duck in here a while ago. She didn’t seem to care about attracting attention.”

  “Well, she’s not here now. You’d know it. She glows like a firefly in that dress.”

  “Maybe,” said Natty. “Is there another way out? I didn’t see her leave.”

  “There’s a door on the left at the back.”

  “Loft?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll check it out if you like.”

  Natty brushed past Ellie and Ben and found the ladder. He gave it a shake. “Sturdy enough, but I don’t think she could climb it. What I recall is that she needed a leg up to climb onto the back of a horse.” He picked his way around hay bales until he found the back door. “It’s ajar.” He shut it tightly so he would be sure to hear it if it was opened again, then he rejoined Ellie and Ben near the entrance. “All right. What’s this about?”

  Ben did not hesitate. It was unimportant that they could not see him well; he lifted his chin belligerently. “I’ve been watching all day. Watching you, watching them. I want to know why you’d come here. No one wants your kind of trouble.”

  Natty stroked his beard. “I figure you’re addressing me, son, and the answer to why I’m here is standing beside me. Your mother invited me to escort her.”

  “Is that true?” asked Ben.

  “Yes.”

  “Why would you do that?” Before she could answer, he asked, “The others? Did you ask them to be here, too?”

  “I did not. They’re here same as everyone else. Thaddeus issued an open invitation. You’d have to expect there’d be all kinds of folks showing up.” Ellie found her son’s arm and gave his sleeve a tug. “Why are you bringing this up now? You’ve had all day. It’s the drink, isn’t it?”

  “Dutch courage,” said Natty, amusement in his voice. “Why don’t you say what’s really on your mind?”

  “What’s on my mind is relieving it if you don’t leave and take your friends with you.” He shook off his mother’s hand. “Ma, I’m going to tell Thaddeus the truth. I can’t look him in the eye any longer.”

  “Then leave the ranch,” said Ellie. “It’s not up to you to come forward.”

  Natty’s hand snaked out and he grabbed a fistful of Ben’s shirt. “That’s for damn sure. Do you hear what your mother’s saying? It’s not your place to decide anything.”

  Ben grabbed Natty’s wrist in both hands and tried to wrestle his shirt free of the man’s grip. He staggered back when Natty let go but caught himself before he tumbled backward over a bale of hay.

  Ellie reached out blindly in an effort to steady her son. She caught air and nothing else. She straightened, set her hands on her hips, and took a half step forward. A full step would have put her squarely between Ben and Natty. It was not a safe place for her to be, not in the dark, and not with tempers flaring. “Enough. Both of you. Ben, you had better explain yourself.”

  Ben straightened his shirt and pulled the collar away from his neck. “I’m going to tell Thaddeus what I did. I don’t have to involve you, Mother. I can say it was all me, all my idea. And I’m not giving up anyone else.”

  Natty shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as green as you. Do you suppose anyone will thank you for your confession and let you go? There’s Blue Armstrong, you dumb son of a bitch, and someone’s going to want to hear what you know about that.”

  “I can’t say what I don’t know.”

  “That didn’t stop you before.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That line of bull you fed me about the pearl choker, how someone was trying to sell it, how it belonged to a passenger on the train. Lies. Every bit of it. But it was the first domino to fall. That makes you as responsible for Blue Armstrong’s murder as the idiots who did it.”

  Ben wished he had brought a lantern after all. He wanted to see Natty Rahway’s face; he wanted to judge the man’s truthfulness for himself. Ben tried to sound certain, not defensive. “That doesn’t make a lick of sense. What does the dog collar have to do with anything?”

  “That’s just it,” said Natty. “It doesn’t.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Ellie broke in before Natty spoke. “I don’t understand either. What’s this about a choker? Pearls, was it?”

  Natty said, “The damn thing didn’t exist, but because you told me it did—I’m talkin’ to you, Ben—I mentioned it to the others. I wanted to see what was what, so I planned to follow Blue. That got
me to the whore, and then the boys got ideas of their own. They cut me out, followed the deputy themselves, and learned it was the pear shape diamond ring that he had, not a pearl collar. They knew they’d sold the ring to a fellow, but they didn’t get his name. He didn’t have theirs either, but they figured he could give the law a pretty good description. You probably read about what happened next, or maybe you heard it straight from the sheriff. They squeezed the life out of Blue and his whore to get the name, and they got it, too. Heard it was the whore who gave it up. Blue wouldn’t.”

  Natty shifted his weight from one foot to other and folded his arms across his chest. “If you haven’t considered this, Ben, you should be doing it now. I don’t know how it came to your attention that it was a collar that was stolen, but it was never that. The boys swear there was no such piece, and while they’d stare at a blue sky and tell you it’s purple, I’m inclined to believe them about this. So if there was no collar, why were you so sure there was? See, if it was me, I’d be thinking someone was pissin’ on my leg and telling me it was raining. But hey, that’s just me.”

  Ellie’s eyes narrowed as she attempted to study her son’s features. “He’s right, isn’t he? Someone told you. Someone suspects you’re involved. Who was it?”

  “Can’t be important now,” said Ben. “It’s a dead end. He doesn’t know I told you.”

  “Not the point,” Natty told him. “The point is you were told something that wasn’t true. You weren’t trusted. Maybe you weren’t trusted since the first. You think of that?”

  He hadn’t, but he was sure that was irrelevant. He was doing the right thing, he was certain of it. With this off his chest, he’d be able to look Remington—and Thaddeus—in the eye, and he would be able to face himself in the mirror.

  Ellie’s voice was sharp when she addressed Ben. “There are only two possibilities. I want to know which one of them it was.”

  “Why?” asked Ben. “I did what you asked. Everything you asked. I told you there was no affair between Mrs. Frost and me. Whatever you saw with Remington or thought you saw, it was never like that for me. That’s what started this. I don’t think you ever believed me, but she was nothing but kind, and yes, she was lonely, and you were grasping at anything you could use to send her away as long as it did not reflect poorly on either of us.”