Demanding Satisfaction [Bride Train 9] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Reece Butler

  “Slowly,” said Ross over his shoulder. He moved to stand where Harrison could see his empty hands. “But my mother and aunt make up for it.”

  “My wife could take that cigar from your mouth with her bullwhip, blindfolded,” said Sin. He smiled, more like a mountain lion than the pussycat he might be trying to imitate. “But our library is bigger than anything west of the Missouri. Florence, Ben’s wife, shipped everything she could get her hands on. I think part of it was a law library.”

  The bullwhip trick was something he’d stay away from, but books were his downfall.

  “I’ll give ye a wee tot of real whiskey,” said Gillis. “It’ll put hair on yer chest.”

  Harrison looked at the red sprouts escaping Gillis’s shirt. “I’ll pass on that.”

  “How long before you retire?” asked Ben. “The valley is best in the spring.”

  It proved they knew, and understood, his situation. “Any of you gentlemen play chess? Now that Walt Chamberlain has married, I’ve got few who can challenge me.”

  More than one set of eyes lit up. It was Ben who answered.

  “I’m sure Walt and Emma would enjoy an extended spring visit from you. Judge Thatcher and his lovely wife, Lily, are just down the street.”

  “And the Double Diamond library is a short ride up the valley,” added Sin.

  Harrison realized how much he’d missed this type of man. There were too many oily shysters in town. He had things to tie up, but come spring he’d be ready for some fresh air. Tension from years of strain eased from his shoulders, his neck, and his temples. It was time to live his life for himself rather than the greed of others. He nodded to Trace.

  “Smythe will know about this meeting,” said Ben, “but he’d never guess the extent of our purchase.”

  “Smythe will be chomping at the bit when the others arrive,” said Sin. “Jed Adams and Luke Frost will keep him busy.”

  Harrison finally saw a touch of humor on the man’s face. It suggested he looked forward to doing whatever he could to make Smythe furious.

  “Do you have any information on Smythe?” asked Ben.

  Harrison nodded. “We believe he has the missing two hundred shares. I spoke to Max Gibson, the Pinkerton agent, about this. He has someone working on drawing Smythe out.”

  Once more, invisible messages flashed between the men. Decision made, Trace gave an abrupt nod to Ben.

  “Max has an identical twin, name of Sam,” said Trace. “And there’s a younger brother, Josh. He looks nothing like them, especially as he dresses rough.”

  Tumblers clicked in Harrison’s brain. Two men, identical. That would explain the range of information they could gather. Trust the Pinkertons to do the job right.

  “I take it they’re all here?”

  “Yes. In addition to Smythe, they’re investigating a man known as Isaac. The Pinkerton Agency has followed a trail of tortured and murdered women all the way to Bannack City. Isaac’s always masked so no one knows who he is. Yet.”

  “Two of our women have been harmed by him,” added Trace with a growl. “Stopping Isaac is more important to us than putting Smythe away. If they’re not the same man,” he added.

  Now that Harrison had decided to leave the railroad, his priorities had shifted. “How can I help?”

  “Did you hear about Queenie, the new dance girl at Ruby’s Saloon?” asked Ross.

  “My assistant was furious about a reprobate miner who hauled her upstairs and…?” More tumblers clicked. He turned to Trace. “The other Pinkerton agent?”

  Trace nodded. “And Queenie is Mrs. Sophie McLeod, owner of the Tanner’s Ford Hotel. She will do anything to catch Isaac.”

  “You allowed a woman to get involved in this?”

  “When you meet the women of Tanner’s Ford,” said Sin drily, “you’ll understand we don’t ‘allow’ our women anything.”

  Harrison rubbed his temple. He’d met a few like that. “A bit uppity, are they?” The men who looked so dangerous a few moments ago suddenly had a sheepish cast to them. He snickered to himself. He enjoyed a challenging woman. Especially if she could play chess.

  “You’ll see for yourself in the spring,” said Ben. He set his glass down with a loud click. “We’ll tell the Gibsons you’ll do what you can.”

  “I expect you brought a few of your rougher employees?” asked Ross.

  Harrison nodded. The railroad preferred to trust their own men rather than the law. Gold fever had touched too many members of the legal profession. The railroad had no problem taking the law into their own hands when the situation demanded it.

  “Dinna let the wee bastard run,” demanded Gillis.

  “The Pinkertons might not find enough proof for a court of law,” added Ben.

  Now that he was almost free, he could enjoy his own revenge. Smythe had badgered the railroad, and specifically him, for too long.

  “Mr. Smythe will be treated in the manner he deserves,” he replied gravely. Then he winked.

  Trace lifted one corner of his lip in assent and approval before they turned to file out. Ross turned at the last moment.

  “The real safe is under your desk. There’s a ridge in the carpet you might want to fix.”

  Harrison stared at the closed door. He stepped back, bent over, and looked. Light from the window shone under the desk. A thin line of black showed a shadow.

  “Damn, the man’s right!”

  He’d have to use a knife to slice off a sliver of the trap door to remove the ridge. Ross could have kept quiet, knowing it was there, vulnerable. But they’d shaken hands.

  A handshake, a signature, and a drink together meant something to these men. And to him. The deal was done. Thousands of acres of land would never be touched by mining unless these men, or their descendants, allowed it. And he was welcome to explore every inch of it.

  In the spring, after Smythe and Isaac were far away, or dead.

  Chapter 28

  Buford Hames pocketed the coins before accepting a whiskey and cigar. He rarely smoked in public, but Smythe would have been insulted if he refused. There was more money to be had from the man, so he would tolerate him for now.

  “You sold those shares to that boy from Tanner’s Ford?” he asked.

  Smythe leaned back in his chair, puffing smoke like a train. Buford took his silence as a reply. Smythe liked to gloat, and for that he needed an audience.

  Willy Wright had no idea of the value of the shares he now held. If the railroad went through where Hames expected, the shares could make the boy very wealthy. If, that is, they were genuine. Buford had a good idea they were counterfeit. Smythe needed gold, but he wouldn’t part with a sure thing unless there was a very good reason.

  “I told the boy to hide them and tell no one.” Smythe turned to Buford. “When he tries to sell them, he’ll go to jail!” Smythe’s donkey-like bray erupted.

  Buford returned Smythe’s smile as if he cared. The man’s days were numbered. He had his hands in so many pockets someone would trip him up. His insistence on selling counterfeit shares while a big bug from the same railroad was in town showed his stupidity. He was worse than those damn Yankees.

  Wright, however, was a Southern boy, raised in the mountains. Though he was just learning to read, Buford had a good idea the boy was smarter than he looked. Not much, but he lived with those Elliotts, and they were smarter than most. There was every possibility that Willy’s eagerness to buy was encouraged by those infernal ranchers.

  “I ever tell you how close I got to killing that damn Elliott whore?”

  Buford perked up his ears. “Jessie?”

  “Rivers had men watching the cabin,” said Smythe. “He was going to fuck her to death and leave her body where that Goddamned Langford could find it.”

  “Like you did with Mrs. Sinclair?”

  Smythe puffed as he stared at Buford for a moment, frowning. He smoothed his face into an expression of complete innocence. “I didn’t touch the woman.”

&
nbsp; “Did you touch her daughter?”

  Smythe’s eyes turned hard. “I suggest you keep your questions to yourself.”

  Buford shrugged, expressing ease as if he didn’t care one way or the other. “You like young women and Rivers was a business partner. It would make sense to take what was offered.”

  “I can find my own girls,” said Smythe, grimacing. He shifted in his chair. Buford heard the clinking sound of coins being tapped against each other.

  “I see you’ve got a new girl. She looks fresh. No bruises that I could see.”

  Smythe leaned back. The clinking sound increased. Buford hid his disgust at what he knew the man was doing

  “She got one on her arm from Potts. She bruises easily.”

  Smythe looked at his glass of whiskey. The man only had two hands. Buford could see him having to make a decision whether to drink, smoke, or touch himself. Smythe set the cigar on the edge of the desk, burning end out, and picked up his drink with his free hand. He let it trickle down his throat. He turned to Buford with a smug expression.

  “I made her show it to me. When I touched it, she cried out.” He looked into the distance, nostrils flaring. “I love it when they realize I’m going to make them hurt. Their eyes widen, their mouths open in a scream. But no one helps them.”

  He set down his drink and brought his other hand under the desk. He closed his eyes, baring his teeth, and groaned

  “I can see you’ve got more important things to do,” said Buford. It was difficult to hide his disgust under the light sarcasm. Smythe, now puffing with his teeth bared, didn’t notice.

  “Tell Mary to get her fucking mouth in here,” he demanded.

  Buford gave the order as he strode to the kitchen. He demanded hot water and soap. He spent a long time scrubbing his hands, but he couldn’t get the sight or sounds of Smythe from his mind.

  It wasn’t the first time Buford had heard the man speak about hurting women. Max Gibson wanted to catch Mr. Isaac. He’d be interested in learning about Smythe’s disgusting habits.

  Chapter 29

  Max waited until the excellent dinner provided by Harrison Baird was finished and cleaned away by hotel staff. Baird gestured to a set of leather club chairs. Max sat on the edge while Baird got comfortable.

  “I take it you have news of Smythe?”

  “He took the bait,” said Max with a brisk nod. “Willy Wright’s a young man from so far back in the mountains he never saw cash money. He just discovered he inherited a fortune from his mother’s side. He was eager to spend some to prove to his girl’s father that he was a man of business.”

  “How much of an act was it?”

  Max snorted a laugh at how eager Willy was to help. “The boy has his eye on Trace Elliott’s adopted daughter, Meggie Redmond. He’s learning to read and to use table manners, but he’s got a long way to go before they’ll let him marry the girl. He’s hoping this will help prove he’ll do anything for her.”

  “I can’t remember being that young,” mused Baird. “Or so eager for love.”

  “A man that eager for a woman will find himself wrapped around her finger before the ring is on her hand,” replied Max. He shook his head. “He’d be better off working hard and proving himself to Trace. He’s the one who’ll decide who his daughters marry.”

  Baird raised an eyebrow. “You’re not married, are you?”

  “I’ve got no time for a woman. Once I’ve retired I’ll find one to suit me.”

  Max didn’t like the amused look Baird gave him.

  “Will you be arresting Smythe today?” asked Baird.

  Since the older man was still sitting, it would be rude for Max to pace the way he wanted to. He leaned forward, fighting to hold back his excitement. They had Smythe dead to rights. Once they got Isaac, they’d only have to tie up a few ends to do with Nathanial Potts. Once that was done they could haul the Jennets from Tanner’s Ford and be gone.

  “I was given a tip that Smythe is Mr. Isaac. He was overheard saying how much he likes to make women scream in pain. It matches the analysis I’ve done.”

  “You suspected Smythe?”

  “It’s logical. But we’ll close the noose on Isaac tonight and find out for sure.”

  “If you get Isaac, the railroad will take care of Smythe,” said Baird. “He’ll claim he has no knowledge the shares were stolen or counterfeit. I’m sure you understand we would not wish to have the theft or the counterfeiting brought to light.”

  Max nodded his understanding. It matched the orders Josh had passed on from their superiors. The railroad baron who hired the Pinkertons wanted the high-ranking man who stole the shares. In addition to theft, he was undermining the business. He may not have known the shares were counterfeit as they’d been placed there as bait. Unfortunately, no one could say who had taken them, or when. Whoever it was had to be stopped. Max and his brothers had been hired to find the stolen shares. Now that the papers were in Willy’s hands, their job was done.

  “Good,” said Baird. “How can I assist in bringing this monster to justice?”

  “By staying away from both Ruby’s Saloon and the Golden Nugget. I don’t want Smythe scared away. We have only one chance, and a woman is putting her life on the line to catch him tonight. We don’t know if Isaac is Smythe, Potts, or someone else entirely.”

  “I wouldn’t be caught dead in either establishment,” replied Baird baldly. He drummed his fingers on the curved leather arm of the chair. “How many men do you have? I could tell mine to lean against a wall in the dark near the rear entrances of both places.”

  Max counted them off using his fingers. “Trace, Ranger, and Ben Elliott along with Gillis and Ross MacDougal. I guess you can put Willy Wright in there as well. The others are Sin Statham, Jed Adams, Luke Frost, Cole Taylor, and Zach McInnes.” He looked up. “That makes eleven, fourteen with me and my brothers.”

  “A veritable army,” quipped Baird. “I will leave it in your capable hands, then.” He stood, allowing Max to do the same. “I would like to meet this woman.”

  “Sophie? I mean, Queenie?” Max slammed his lips shut, too late.

  “Yes. Strong-willed women intrigue me. Since I’ll be retiring, I could use a wife like that.”

  “She’s taken.” Baird’s lip twitched, making Max wonder if the comment was intended to check the waters, or poke at him. “My brother wants her.”

  “Just one brother?” Baird tilted his head to scratch one cheek. “Or do all three Gibsons wish to marry Sophie McLeod? And what does the lady think?”

  Max jammed his fists in his pockets before he did something stupid with them like punch the man baiting him. Anything to do with Sophie seemed to make him furious. “None of us will be talking to Sophie until after we’re finished our assignments.” He spoke the words precisely, as if speaking with the head of the Agency. “Mr. Pinkerton insists on high decorum. His agents do not dally with women. Josh is doing a job, protecting Sophie by pretending to hire her. If he didn’t do that, Abby would have sold her to some brute.”

  “I heard Josh was so desperate for decent whiskey that he sold her to you for the night. Why would he do that?”

  “She needed a reason to get punished.” Max realized Baird wouldn’t stop until he had the whole plan. He might as well use the man’s brain to make sure he’d thought of everything.

  “Josh and Sophie are well suited and she can’t hide it well enough. Abby wouldn’t believe Queenie would refuse him, so someone else had to step in. Since Abby’s eager to punish Queenie before Ruby recovers, she took the bait. Josh and I will be downstairs drinking. Sam will be already in her room, waiting. Isaac will come after dark.”

  “Is anyone watching for him?”

  “Most of the ranchers will be in the Golden Nugget watching to see if Smythe, Potts, or anyone else slips out. Ross will be between the two places, giving updates. When Sophie gets hauled upstairs screaming we’ll know Isaac should be showing up.”

  “You have someone watch
ing the back door at Ruby’s?”

  Max shook his head. “Can’t have anything that might scare Isaac off. We only have this one chance. If he leaves Bannack City, who knows where he’ll go.”

  If that happened, Max would be duty-bound to find him and start over with the man even more wary of being caught. That would destroy his plan to buy a ranch and stay in one place.

  The tension that always kept him on edge tightened even more. That ranch was something he’d wanted for a long, long time. Ever since they were forced from their miserable excuse of a home. He wasn’t more than a boy when he’d promised Sam and Josh a place where they could be safe. In the last few years Josh had added that he also wanted love. Having never experienced it, Max couldn’t promise that.

  If Isaac escaped tonight, would Josh and Sam wait for him to finish the job, or would they choose to stay with Sophie? Another notch of tension tightened around his head.

  Baird set a hip on the corner of his desk. He frowned as he investigated a hangnail.

  “What if they drug Sophie?” he asked quietly. “What if they take her somewhere other than where Sam is? What if they find Sam and—”

  “I don’t know, dammit!”

  Max shoved himself to his feet as his roar echoed around the room. He shivered in rage. He never swore. Never!

  “Well, well, Maxwell Gibson finally lost his temper.” The older man smiled as if he’d achieved something. He nodded as if they were the best of friends. “How does it feel to let loose for once?”

  Max’s heart pounded so fast he couldn’t breathe. He’d vowed never to swear. Never to lose his temper. Never, ever, to act like his abusive father.

  His control was hard won, but it was the only way to protect Sam and Josh. It kept his father’s belt and fists on him rather than having the punishing blows hit on his brothers. He could do nothing about the shameful words that rained down on all three of them. And now he’d broken his vow. His chest heaved as he panted. His fists tightened in the need to slam something.