Only My Love

by Jo Goodman

  He stopped her again when she began to move away. "But not for the reasons you're probably thinking. Go on, get in. And move all the way over this time. As close to the edge as you can without falling out the other side." And just because he knew he could get away with it this once, he gave her a little pat on the backside as she crawled in.

  She twisted her head to glare at him and the effort simply made her collapse.

  "Well," he drawled, sliding in after her, "it's not far enough, but I suppose it'll have to do."

  Michael gently placed a forearm over her eyes as if she could contain the pressure in her head. "Tell me it will be better in the morning."

  He gave her a little push to make room for his legs and brought up the sheet and comforter to cover them. "It will be better in the morning."

  "Really?"

  His laughter was low and slightly wicked. It was also very near her ear. "No," he said. "It will be worse."

  * * *

  It was every bit as brutal as Ethan had warned her it would be. He found great amusement in the fact.

  "Shouldn't you be helping the widow this morning?" she asked as they shared breakfast in the kitchen. Because of the earliness of the hour it was deserted except for them. "Or blowing up something in the mines?"

  "Like myself you mean?" He cut her off before she could answer. "Mrs. Johnson doesn't need me for a few days. She's got John Gibbs to help her. And there's nothing more for me to blow up at the mine until they clear the rubble away. So you see, I'm here for the day. And probably again tomorrow."

  Michael dunked the tip of her hard crusted bread in her coffee, softening it. Even chewing hurt. She would have liked to have slept longer but when Ethan left the bed she woke and couldn't fall back to sleep. He hadn't said a word about her curled all around him. She couldn't even pretend it had been the other way around. It was her arm he'd had to move and her leg he'd had to untangle before he could slip out of the bed. Michael couldn't even thank him for not mentioning it.

  "What exactly do you do there?" she asked. The least she could do was ignore his amusement at her condition and resolve to be polite.

  "The silver's in veins that run deep underground. I set the explo—" He stopped because she was shaking her head.

  "No, I mean at the widow's. Mrs. Johnson?"

  "Emily Johnson," he said, nodding. Ethan cut off a bit of steak and speared some scrambled eggs. "In the beginning there was a lot of work to do on the roof. When she and Georgie bought the place it was pretty run down. They did quite a bit but there wasn't time to get to everything." He stopped for a moment, looked away from Michael, alone with his own thoughts, then began again. "I've been laying a new floor for her in places where the old boards have rotted, clearing some land so she can have a garden in the spring. Mostly it's just this and that kind of work. I do what I can. Usually a few days a week."

  "I'm surprised you do it at all. They must pay you well enough at the mines... and then there's your other, more lucrative career."

  Ethan paused in buttering a slice of bread. "I don't take any money from Emily. Helping her is the least I can do."

  The faint furrow between Michael's brows appeared as she raised a question with her eyes. "The least you can do? I don't think I understand."

  He looked at Michael steadily, prepared to measure her response. "I killed her husband."

  Michael didn't blink. She lowered her cup and set it firmly in its saucer. She thought she had learned just enough about Ethan to know she couldn't assume anything. He seemed to be waiting for her to do just that. "How did it happen?" she asked instead.

  Ethan finished buttering his bread. There was part of him that wanted to tell her a lie, make up some story about gunning down Georgie Johnson on the street. It was precisely the sort of thing he wanted her to believe about him. Then he remembered how she had felt against him, her arms and legs curved around him, cradling him against her breasts. He was too selfish to lie. He wanted her there again. He told her the truth. It was a little less ugly.

  "I was setting explosives in the mines. It was just after I came to Madison. I picked Georgie to help me out because he'd had a little experience handling dynamite. We were down pretty deep. There was no light save for what lanterns we carried in ourselves. Georgie and I had finished packing the crevices with the sticks and fixed the blasting caps. I was laying down a powder fuse through the tunnel because we'd run out of cord. Georgie was carrying what we didn't need to safe ground."

  Ethan took a drink of his coffee, staring off a point beyond Michael's shoulder. "I don't know what really happened then, don't know what went through Georgie's mind. I figure he remembered something he left behind in the blast area and went back for it. I'm sure he thought I saw him go back. I didn't though. I swear to God I didn't see him go back."

  Michael reached across the table. The very tips of her fingers touched Ethan's wrist. He didn't pull away and she didn't offer anything more intrusive or demanding.

  "I set the fuse all the way back to the clear area. Georgie wasn't there. I yelled for him. The tunnels play tricks sometimes with sound. I thought I heard him calling me from another level above me. I thought it was safe. I lit the powder."

  "Oh, dear God."

  Ethan pushed abruptly away from the table and poured himself another cup of coffee at the stove. "Emily was pregnant at the time it happened. She miscarried."

  Michael blanched a little.

  "It was ruled an accident. Everyone knew Georgie had no business going back in the blasting area after I started to set the fuse. There were other men around who heard the same trick of sound that I did and thought he was safe."

  "It was an accident."

  Ethan said nothing. He raised the pot of coffee, offering some to Michael. She shook her head. He returned to the table and sat down. "I work alone now."

  And take risks, Michael thought, remembering the bruise on his back from setting the fuse too short. "Mrs. Johnson doesn't blame you," she said. When his flint-colored eyes narrowed in question she added, "She couldn't have you around otherwise."

  "She says the same thing. She tells me I'm doing unnecessary penance because there's nothing to forgive."

  "She's right."

  Ethan wasn't so certain. "Maybe I'll feel different after she's married again and I'll know she's happy and well cared for, with someone to look out for her."

  "All the things a woman could want," she said. She heard her own sarcasm and was immediately sorry. "I apologize. That wasn't meant as a snipe at Emily or at you. I don't know why I said it. I wish her every happiness."

  Ethan studied Michael's face, saw that she was earnest. "John Gibbs does too."

  "That's the man who's helping her when you're not?"

  He nodded. "John's been a good friend to her. He'll be a good husband."

  Michael pushed her eggs around on her plate. Outside clouds separated in the sun's path. Light slanted in from the window behind Ethan and laid across the corner of the table. "What about you, Ethan? Do you ever think about not robbing trains and being someone's good husband?"

  Glancing toward the doors to make certain they were alone, Ethan said, "One doesn't necessarily preclude the other. All I have to do is find a woman who doesn't particularly care that I like blasting safes more than I like blasting tunnels."

  "I see," she said coldly.

  He laughed. "Don't worry. I don't think you're that woman."

  "You're damned right I'm not."

  "But I'll wager you think you can change me." Though she tried to hide it, he saw his remark had struck a chord with her. She was still trying desperately to justify her attraction to him. "You'll realize soon enough that you can't force people to be what you want. I used to think I could stop you from swearing."

  Before Michael could think of a suitable reply, Ethan was gone from the room.

  * * *

  Houston found Michael in the saloon in the afternoon, picking out a ditty on the piano. There were only seven custo
mers at the bar and few more back in the dining room. Kitty was tending bar and carrying on an animated conversation with her brother and one of his friends.

  He leaned against the upright and watched her for a few minutes. "Head still ache?" he asked. "Ethan says it was throbbing this morning."

  She glanced up once then continued playing. "It's better." She hit a sour note and winced with exaggerated expressiveness. "Unless I do that."

  "Dee might have some powders back in her apartment. Do you want me to get something for you?"

  "Powders from Detra's cupboards?" Michael raised one brow skeptically. "No, thank you. I don't think so."

  "I take it you've heard about Mr. Kelly."

  "I've heard. Is it true?"

  Houston shrugged. "Doctor here in town says it was a heart attack. I don't know any different."

  "Is there something in particular you want, Houston? Dee's in her office if you're looking for her."

  "I wasn't," he said. "I cleared my desk of paperwork, made my rounds, and left the next crisis for my deputy to handle."

  "Jake will do fine, I'm sure."

  "So I thought you might like to go for a buggy ride with me. I got one at the livery for a few hours. I can take you to the mines, show you where most of the town is when they're not sleeping or in this saloon." He took off his hat, threaded his hair with his fingers, pushing it back at the temples, then replaced the hat. He looked at her expectantly.

  "I don't know, Houston. Dee doesn't—"

  "Let me worry about Dee."

  "But Ethan-"

  "You said yourself there's no love lost between you and Ethan. Last night proved it as far as I'm concerned. He's being a dog in a manger when it comes to you. He doesn't want you but he doesn't want anyone else to have you either."

  "I make my own decisions."

  "Prove it. Come with me. You know you want to. The fresh air will do wonders for your head."

  Michael wasn't sure about that, but she did want to see the mines. Against her better judgment she continued to be intensely interested in anything connected to Ethan Stone. If Houston could help her, then she would use him. He didn't need to know they were at cross-purposes.

  She stood up. "I'll get my coat."

  Ethan was in the room, reading in the wing chair, his feet propped on the footstool, when she went in. He marked his place with his finger, closed the book over it, and looked up. "Going someplace?"

  "With Houston. For a buggy ride. Are you going to stop me?"

  "You really don't understand, do you? The only way to stop you is to stop Houston. I told you early on that I wasn't going to kill a man over you. I should have added: or get myself killed. Is he forcing you to go with him?"

  "No."

  "Then I'm not forcing you not to. Mind yourself though. He's after more than just that kiss you shared yesterday."

  "You saw that?"

  Ethan nodded. His blue-gray eyes studied her carefully, grazing her face, her throat, her breasts, and sliding down the long folds of her hunter green gown as if he could see what lay beneath. "Now that you have a taste for what happens between a man and woman in bed, perhaps you've decided to try some feminine wiles after all."

  "He's a murderer."

  "You'll forget that after a while. You did with me."

  Michael slammed the door on her way out.

  "Ready?" Houston asked as she came quickly down the stairs. "The buggy's outside."

  That gave Michael pause. "You were terribly certain of my answer."

  "I was merely hopeful."

  Out of the corner of her eye Michael caught Kitty's worried expression as they passed the bar. She smiled back with a reassurance she didn't feel.

  Houston helped Michael into the buggy and laid a blanket across their laps. "Here, take my gloves," he said. "The sun's deceiving. It's still plenty cold out here and it'll be worse once we start moving. I'll take it slow."

  Michael put on the gloves. "What about you?"

  "I'll drive with one hand. You keep the other warm." He thrust it toward Michael. "Go on. Take it." He snapped the reins at the same moment she accepted his hand in her gloved ones. He grinned at her sideways. "That's not so bad, is it?"

  She held his hand on her lap. The sun's brightness was deceiving. The sky was cloudless. The mountain peaks were crisply outlined against a blue background that seemed too uniformly perfect to be quite real. Even when she tried to breathe in sunshine Michael felt nothing but cold air fill her lungs.

  Houston pointed out the frozen lake, the fast running streams that rushed over small dams of ice, the empty nests that were wedged in the crooks of spindly barren trees. After a while he slipped his hand out of hers, transferred the reins, and gave her the cold one to warm.

  Michael turned slightly. Her knees bumped his. "I thought you would be more respectful of my marriage to Ethan."

  "I might... if you were really married to him."

  She felt a rush of panic. Unconsciously she squeezed his hand a little tighter. What did Houston know? Had she said something, done something to give herself away? Had Ethan been merely setting her up and told the truth behind her back? "I don't understand. What do you mean if I were really married to him?"

  "Except for the chance meeting on the train, you and Ethan haven't been together as man and wife for four years. My understanding is that your actual marriage only lasted a few months before he left you. There's not a great deal to respect there, wouldn't you say?"

  The first rush of panic subsided and Michael began to breath more easily. It was then she was aware of holding Houston's hand too tightly. She eased her grip and rubbed his hand, pretending her intent all along was merely to warm it. "I am married to him, though."

  Houston was thoughtful. "But you're holding my hand. Tell me, what did Ethan say he did for a living when he first met you?"

  Michael was thankful for the conversation she and Ethan had had to share information. She remembered precisely what he'd been doing in New York during the spring they supposedly were married. "He worked in a bank."

  Grinning, Houston gave her a sideways glance. "I'll wager he did. More than one of them. Though I doubt he was officially employed."

  Michael didn't have to pretend to be shocked. She was. She hadn't suspected the information Ethan had given her was only part of the truth. "You're wrong!" she said quickly. "Ethan wasn't robbing banks then."

  "He didn't start after he met me. He didn't find us here in Madison. We found him. He'd worked on his own in places like St. Louis and Denver."

  "Oh, but-"

  "You see, there are things you don't know about Ethan. Things you've never known. Makes it kind of difficult to know who to trust, doesn't it?"

  "I thought Ethan was your friend."

  "I like him well enough, I suppose. I don't know that I trust him." His black eyes left the road again and studied Michael's face briefly. "I don't know that I trust many people at all. It's always been safer not to."

  Feeling his interest was somehow cold and detached, Michael barely was able to suppress a shiver. She was grateful for the silence that fell between them.

  The silver mines at Madison had more than a dozen different entrances. Some shafts went down hundreds of feet, others only a few score. Inside the mountain a veritable warren of tunnels and passages had been carved out to pursue the path of the precious metal. Ore was taken from the bowels of the mountain by small dumper cars riding on tracks laid through most of the tunnels. After being refined as much as possible locally, it was carried by mule to Stillwater, the nearest community with access to the railroad. It was not the most efficient operation for the town—some thought there should be a rail spur to Madison—but slowing down the process also meant the treasure would be there for years to come.

  Houston helped Michael down from the carriage and led her to one of the entrances where there was no activity. "We're only going to go a short way in," he told her. "Without a lantern it's impossible to see. Unless you want to see
more? I can get one."

  "No. No, that's all right. I don't think I'd like to go in very far." She allowed him to take her elbow and escort her up a small rocky incline until they reached the adit. After walking only five or so yards into the horizontal mine entrance darkness began to close around them.

  "You can see there are other tunnels that take different routes up ahead. Generally there are two shifts of miners working each day."

  "Is this area tapped out? Is that why no one's working here?"

  "I don't know. Could be. I'm not as familiar with the working of the mines as Ethan. You could ask him."

  "Perhaps I will." They had stopped walking. Michael realized she was close enough to one of the inner walks that she was able to feel the cool dampness of earth and rock through her clothes. She glanced toward the entrance and was assured by the rectangular patch of sunlight framed by the supporting wooden beams.

  "You don't like this place, do you?" Houston asked.

  She thought he was going to take a step back and give her room to move toward the adit. Instead he moved closer so that Michael found her back to the tunnel's wall. "No," she said. "I don't like it much." She thought he would move then. He didn't.

  "Ethan says you were studying at a university when he met you."

  The change of subject startled her. Michael forced herself to meet Houston's eyes directly. "That's right."

  "What were you studying?"

  "Literature. I was planning to be a writer."

  "Poetry?"

  She shook her head. "Novels."

  "Have you started one?"

  "Dozens. But I never finish. I keep a diary." She mentioned the diary because she knew he knew about it. It would add credibility to lies she had to tell.

  "Is that why you were going to marry Drew Beaumont? Because he was a writer?"

  Michael took a tentative step sideways, hoping to inch herself away from the wall. Houston countered by casually bracing his arms on either side of her shoulders. "I was going to marry Drew because I loved him."

  "You haven't mourned him. Except for the first few days on the trail I haven't observed you really grieving for him."

  "You don't know what's in my heart."