Summoning shredded pride, Dara muttered, “And when the time comes and you do say them, Mr. McQuade, I hope to tarnation that you choke on them.”
“Such unladylike venom,” he intoned, amusement alight in his eyes. Removing a cheroot from his pocket, he added, “You’ll be bending knee for hours to atone for wishing me ill. I might even join you there, for I’m pleased, love, to see the veneer crack.”
“Don’t talk to me about my unladylike behavior.” She felt a surging delight with the need to have the last word. “What does a man like you know about ladies? I can guess the sort of woman a man like you consorts with, and never, Mr. McQuade, do you hear me, never would they be called ladies. Not even if it … it … snowed down here! And you,” she snapped with honeyed malice, pointing a finger in the general direction of his nose, “you will never be a gentleman.”
To his credit, Eden did not laugh. An inner smile of pure mischief brightened his mouth while his eyes held a gleam of sheer deviltry. “If I wasn’t a gentleman, Dara Louise,” he taunted, “you would have known what being a woman meant the first time I met you.” And the wild black Irish blood, too hot under a back that would never bend to another, had him step as close as he dared to her. “Last night,” he stated in a constrained voice, fighting for equanimity against her goading him beyond every point of acquired civility, “I came close to taking you where you lay on the table. And if you are smart, little saint, you’ll never bait me. ’Cause if you do, darlin’,” he whispered as anger crested and his eyes lost their coolness, “I’ll take that as an invitation to show you how gentlemen treat their ladies to points past discretion.”
Dara was rigid, blinking her eyes as he blurred out of focus for a moment while she fought the desire to put her hands in violence upon him.
“Smile for me, love. I’m more than ready to do bodily harm to some unsuspecting soul.”
“So, Mr. McQuade, am I.” Dara didn’t stop to think about what she was going to do. She walked away, gritting her teeth.
“How’s your father?” Eden asked, lighting his cigar.
“As well as can be expected with half the town come to visit him.”
Eden didn’t look behind him, willing to give her a moment to collect herself. He had been, no, he wasn’t going to excuse anything he said. “Then you won’t have any objection to my going in to see him?”
“Not a one, Mr. McQuade,” she announced, spinning around from the laundry tub and slapping the first garment that had come to hand across the back of his head.
Eden’s exploding hiss of breath made Dara take one step back. The sodden cloth had completely wrapped around his face. He stood immobile and temptation got the better of her. She cautiously came around to view the front of him. Rivulets of water coursed down his fine black jacket, soap bubbles glistening in the late afternoon’s sunlight. She squinted, saw widening damp spots on his buff cream shirt, and found herself nearing to watch the water drip down the indecent fit of his pants until it made tracks on the dust-laden boots that were … moving … toward her…
Eden ripped the cloth aside, spat out the smashed sodden cigar, and looked for a moment as if murder was beyond contemplation. Hunter pinned prey, and he held aloft the dripping prize in his hand.
“I …” she began.
“Your silence, Dara, would be melodious.” And to her complete mortification, he wrung out the cloth with one hand, watching, as she did, the stream of water reduced to a few drops falling from his grip. With the seriousness one would usually reserve for items of questionable origins, Eden shook the cloth until its shape became discernible. Dangling the delicately embroidered lace-trimmed camisole from one finger by its shoulder strap, Eden frowned in silent contemplation.
Dara held her breath. That he would find some way to retaliate she didn’t doubt. Regret for her impetuous act made her long to snatch the intimate apparel, which had never appeared so fragile as it did held by Eden McQuade.
“I had hoped,” he blandly explained, “to gain possession of this enchanting item in a more decidedly pleasurable way. I shall, however, treasure its gift as a promise, love.” His smile became indulgent as his gaze measured the distance between them, and he could feel the swell of his sex react to the lush fullness of her heaving breasts, which threatened her dress’s pearl-buttoned closing.
“Soon, darlin’,” he murmured. “You’ve nearly used up my entire store of patience.”
“You can’t keep it!”
But Dara had no courage to step forward as he carefully folded her camisole. Then, as if handling a priceless treasure, he tucked the damp garment into the inside pocket of his jacket.
Frissons of warmth trickled inside her, and she cast about desperately to distract herself from where his declaration led her thoughts.
“Have you seen anything of Matt?” she asked, longing to brush the sparkling water from his hair just as he was doing. “He never came home last night,” she added.
“Are you worried?”
“Yes. But I need him to—” Dara stopped. He was walking away from her! “Where are you going?”
“To find him, Dara,” he replied, turning to face her, but still walking backward. “I said I’d satisfy all your needs, darlin’.”
Dara watched him, a grin becoming a smile that deepened until laughter bubbled forth and the day, nearing its end, no longer held the angry threats of morning. “Eden,” she whispered, “a garden of delight…”
Chapter Nine
“There’s ten mining companies in this area alone! Can you believe that, Dara?” Cyrus asked two weeks after his accident. He sat at the kitchen table, ignoring the radiating heat from the oven that blended with the sun’s setting warmth. His stout cane was propped beside him, and he shifted his broken leg, which rested on Dara’s vanity bench. It was by trial and error that they discovered its height was perfect to alleviate the weight of the new cast Rainly’s first doctor had applied five days ago. Dr. Richard Vance, lately of Buffalo, New York, had rented the last store that Lucio Suarez built on the newly paved Richmond Road and had hung out his shingle. His waiting room had been full ever since.
Cyrus had no use for quackery, but Eden assured him that Dr. Vance’s testimonials from satisfied patients, along with the credentials attesting that he studied with the eminent Dr. R. V. Pierce of that same city, were genuine. Eden McQuade, Cyrus found out, was shrewd, knowledgeable about worldly matters, and didn’t begrudge Cyrus’s need to know what was happening within the town. He had enlivened the boring hours of the evenings, proved himself to be a passable chess player, and his liquor was always velvet smooth.
“It says here,” Cyrus continued, ruffling his newspaper while Dara slid a tray of biscuits into the oven to bake, “that Vogt owns almost ninety thousand acres of land, and Suarez ain’t far behind. Seems to be that Eden best watch himself or Suarez’ll have the county sewed up along with Vogt.”
“I’m sure he’s well aware of what’s happening, Papa.”
“And thank the good Lord he is. If I had to depend on you and Matt to fill me in on what’s going on in town, I’d be on the go-down sufferin’ a case of the all-overs.”
“Papa, that’s not true. I told you that Suelle is in a snit over Jake refusing to hire another peace officer. I can’t say I blame her, either. Waking up in the middle of the night to find Early poking his gun out their bedroom window when someone tried to steal one of their horses was bad enough, but when Early shot at him and missed, the man shot back and shattered Suelle’s grandmother’s lamp. She’s heartbroken over its loss. And now, Papa, she’s afraid. So are most of the women in town. But they won’t talk about it to their husbands, because they’re more frightened of their men carrying guns.” Dara tested the oil and, when it sizzled, began frying the flour-coated strips of catfish. She refused to look up at the clock, knowing her inner senses would tell her when it was near time for Eden to arrive.
“Is it true that Tucker forbid his
Selena to leave their store unless he or Julian is with her?”
“Yes. And Caroline said Jesse and his sons are carrying rifles with them if they deliver lumber out to the mines. He’s been robbed once and swore it won’t happen again. Sophy is forbidden to walk down Williams Street since Suarez opened another gambling hall, and they expect the arrival of that Mallory woman this week. The Gilded Lily should be in full swing by the weekend, but Sophy’s worried about the body they found near the shanties behind the sawmill. Jake threatened to bum them down, and the men clear out for a day or two, but then they just come back during the night.”
“You haven’t spoken to Anne, have you, Dara?”
“I’ve been too busy to pay social calls.”
“I heard she’s doing her buying at the new general store on Stuart Lane that Irish fellow opened.”
“It’s closer to their home, Papa. Anne needs to be careful in her condition.” Dara placed the last piece of fried fish on a thick white ironstone platter and slid it into the small warming oven above the stove.
Cyrus lifted his paper to allow her to spread a linen cloth on the table, no longer surprised that she set out four plates with neatly aligned starched linen napkins held securely rolled by gleaming silver napkin rings. They were one of the few treasures Malva had salvaged from their home. Thoughts of his long-deceased wife brought forth a sigh. He longed for her to share his silent observations on the present state of affairs between Dara and Eden. The first few times Eden arrived just as they sat down to supper, Dara had been flustered, and Cyrus had done the inviting. He owed Eden a debt, but try as he would, he couldn’t get a straight story from either of them about what happened the night he fell or the morning after. Pierce had not returned to town, and Cyrus excused him, because the farm work took his time. But Clay had not called, and Dara, when asked, refused to discuss him. Cyrus couldn’t press her, for she had the burden of the house, the store, and his care. But he’d fiddle his britches if Eden McQuade didn’t appear to be courting her.
“Seems a mite strange, don’t it, that Eden rides out every morning to his mines and then returns to town each night right in time for supper. ’Course, your cooking is a draw to tempt any man, but it seems a mighty waste of time to me.”
“I hadn’t given it a thought, Papa.” Searching the pantry shelves for a crock of pickled corn, Dara knew she spoke the truth. It just seemed … well, natural that Eden joined them. She certainly could not reveal to her father that she felt safer knowing he was close by each night. Matt had surprised her by taking the responsibility of sharing the burden of the store. He worked from midaftemoon until closing, leaving her free to tend to chores and prepare supper. In turn, she didn’t comment about his disappearing every night after supper. While her father was feeling better, Dara knew he would resent her belief that he couldn’t protect them. She shuddered at the thought of how much Rainly had changed just as Eden and Jake had warned. A few months ago neighbors could sleep with their doors unlocked. Now they were arming themselves.
Setting the crock on the floor, she saw her father sat engrossed in his paper, and she reset the tortoiseshell combs securing the thick coil of hair at her nape. She smoothed the fit of her new blue and white striped serge skirt and the blousewaist of India blue muslin. Leah Tucker suggested trimming them with the new shade called Buffalo red, but she felt it too bold. Eden always noted what she wore, often complimenting her when he chastely kissed her good night. What had happened to make him change? Sitting in the kitchen, serving him supper, kept the night of her “indiscretion,” as she privately termed it, fresh in her mind. Eden’s behavior, while leaving her confused and vexed, had been that of a gentleman. His taunt of someday teaching her what the word really meant aroused her virginal curiosity.
“Dara! Matt’s home and the biscuits are burning.”
“Coming.” She scooped up the crock, deciding that Eden McQuade was slick enough to have her falling for his lines like a pioneer housewife at a medicine man’s show. But she was humming with excitement at the thought.
“You should have seen him,” Matt whispered, leaning over his father’s shoulder.
“Who?” she asked, dishing out the pickled corn.
“Eden,” he replied, endowing the word with hero worship. “He sent two of the men that work for Suarez into the horse trough by Early’s. I was locking up when I heard shouts and ran out front just in time to see him do it. He’s…” Matt stopped. Eden stood at the open backdoor. “I was just … I saw…” Stammering, Matt blurted out, “What happened?”
“They required cooling off. I obliged them.”
Dara glanced up on hearing the coiled tension in his voice. His shirtsleeve was tom, and there was a dark bruise on the undercurve of his jaw.
“Dara, the biscuits,” Cyrus reminded her.
She grabbed the pot holders to remove the tray from the oven, caught by surprise at the rush of protectiveness and the compassionate need she felt to soothe Eden. She filled a basket with the nicely browned biscuits using uncommon haste and turned again to see Eden, but he stood with his back toward her at the sink with Matt. Their whispering was far too low for her to hear what they were saying, but she stole a minute to stare her fill.
He hadn’t stopped at Miss Loretta’s to change tonight. His boots were scarred leather, dusty from working with the phosphate. The chalky substance clung to his faded denims, reminding her of the first time she had met him. The fit of the worn, soft cloth accentuated his narrow flanked hips and muscled thighs. There were damp spots on the back of his pale blue shirt and streaks of dirt. Her breath caught as the cloth taunted across his shoulders when he leaned down, splashing water on his face. Her gaze feasted on his black hair, which needed cutting, watching, as he lifted his head and smoothed it back, the way the light gleamed on the water he left behind. There was something intimate that made her flush inwardly, seeing him repeat the masculine gesture of tucking his shirt into his pants and adjusting the set of his belt before he turned around.
Their gazes meshed across the room, and in that moment of silent communication, Dara knew there would be no chaste kiss good night. The tension she had heard in his voice appeared in the tarnished silver of his eyes, the look dangerous, and there was no relief to be found in the cynical grin on his lips. She felt he was warning her, of what, she didn’t know, but her pleasure-ridden senses flowered open as the talk turned to the upcoming box lunch social after Sunday’s church service.
Dara sat in the parlor after supper dishes were done, sock darner in hand, her stitches taken in a deliberate manner to alleviate the tension growing within her. Eden lounged in a chair across from where Cyrus, with obvious enjoyment, read aloud from the copy of the New York Herald Tribune that Eden had saved for him. She knew Eden watched her. Whenever she glanced up, his gaze was waiting to ensnare hers, but Dara couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something predatory about it. She directed her attention to her father, silent for the moment while he scanned the paper for an interesting tidbit to read aloud. They had already covered the shocking Panama scandal caused by the collapse of the Panama Canal Company, and the news that Brazil was now a republic. Farm and labor groups were fighting for the curbing of industrial monopolies, and John D. Rockefeller’s Standard Oil Trust controlled virtually all of the nation’s oil refineries. Public protests were mounting, along with civil lawsuits against the trusts held by a few men who controlled trade by secret price-fixing.
Dara listened to Eden’s surprising opinion that the strikes and overextended railroads would lead to a severe depression. He had suggested that the Withlacoochee River be cleared of stumps and snags to allow barges to make the trips to Port Inglis on Chambers Island in the Gulf of Mexico. Right now he and the other mine owners had to ship by rail to Femandina on the northeast coast of the state, where the phosphate would then be loaded on ships bound for manufacturing centers along the upper East Coast or in Europe.
The clock ticked away. Sh
e knew it was approaching nine, at which time Eden would rise, ask her to walk him to the door, kiss her good night with melting tenderness, and leave. Gossip said that he spent little time in his saloon, and Dara knew the truth of it. Most evenings she could see his lamp burning long into the night in his mine office across the way.
“That William Kemmeler convicted of murdering Matilda Ziegler was executed today by a newfangled electric chair. Hangings always been good enough for a murderer before.”
“It’s called progress, Cyrus,” Eden replied. “Invent something to benefit mankind, and I’ll wager there are four men looking for ways to turn a profit using it to do something in a quick efficient manner.”
“Killing is killing, no matter how it’s done. ’Pears to me the whole country is going to hell in a basket.”
“Hell was built on spite and heaven on pride, or so the Good Book says.”
“Your pa teach you that?”
“He was fond of raising his children on quotes. I remember one time my brother Paradise committed a breach of manners I cannot repeat, and Daddy whupped him, claiming he was going to hell. Hell,” Eden noted with a grin, “was a favorite topic in our home. Anyway, Pa said he had to mend his manners ’cause the devil was right strict on etiquette in hell, and there weren’t hope for Paradise to go anywhere else. My brother earned himself bread and water for two days quoting one of Pa’s favorites back to him—‘The devil’s snare does not catch you unless you are first caught by the devil’s bait.’ My brothers and I,” he clarified, “figured that’s what Pa was, the devil’s bait.”
Cyrus laughed and Dara joined in, reminded of the times Eden mentioned his own boyish indiscretions usually caused by his father first pointing out they were the devil’s own temptation. He rarely mentioned his family, but she knew they were close.
“Well, I’ll be horswoggled! Listen here. They found clams containing pearls in the Sugar River in Wisconsin! Don’t that beat all. Some of them are valued at one hundred dollars. Just think of the swindlers heading there before those folks know what happened.”
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