Behind His Blue Eyes

by Kaki Warner

  Edwina Brodie was the most obvious because of her Southern accent and the baby in her arms. Her hulking husband, Declan Brodie, was easy to remember, too, because of the badge peeking from beneath the lapel of his dark coat and the children gathered around him, the oldest of whom, R.D., was his spitting image.

  Thomas Redstone she already knew, and the brown-skinned woman beside him must have been Edwina’s half sister, Prudence Lincoln. Even with the discolored skin on her wrist from a long-ago scalding, she was the most beautiful woman Audra had ever seen.

  The final introduction was to Tait Rylander, Lucinda’s husband. An elegant man with intense gray eyes, an engaging smile, and the scar from an old rope burn just above his starched collar.

  “Is it time for my lecture, Mary?” Father asked. “Is that why they’re here?”

  The Heartbreak Creek misfits. It promised to be an interesting day.

  Seven

  “Have you spoken to your father about the right-of-way, Miss Audra?”

  “Pearsall.”

  They had left the hotel several minutes earlier, the Rylanders in the lead, followed by Mr. Redstone and Prudence Lincoln, then the Brodie children, the younger three playing kick with a pinecone, R.D. ambling in their wake, too old for childhood games. Their parents came behind them, Edwina Brodie deeply engaged in conversation, while Declan walked silently beside her, his big hand dwarfing the baby he held upright against his chest. Escorted by Mr. Hardesty, Audra and her group brought up the rear. Within moments, however, Mr. Hardesty had managed to separate Audra from her father and the Abrahams when Father stopped to study markings on a tree trunk. Now they were walking well out of hearing of the others.

  “I told him of your offer,” she answered. “He said something about a lost tribe and spilled his cobbler. I took that as a ‘no’. Have you asked about employment?”

  He didn’t respond.

  “I thought not. Fortunately, Mrs. Rylander is making efforts on my behalf.”

  They continued in strained silence, careful not to touch. But even though her vision was limited by the sides of her bonnet, she was aware of him watching her.

  She found that disturbing. But also flattering.

  As they approached the rail yard where the construction materials were being stored, she noticed that the water tower was nearing completion. That surprised and annoyed her, proof that the railroad was so sure of her acquiescence that they had pushed ahead, even without her signature on the right-of-way.

  “How will they keep the water in the tower from freezing in winter?” she asked, in an effort to ease the tense silence.

  “Enclose it in a heated building. Why do you insist on living out there?”

  She looked at him, taken aback by the abrupt change in subject.

  He didn’t meet her gaze, but strode stiffly along, chin up, hands clasped behind his back. The breeze tugged at the lapels of his unbuttoned coat and tousled his brown hair so that strands of gold and red glinted in the sun. Instead of his normally teasing expression, he wore a deep frown.

  He had an interesting mouth. Even when he wasn’t smiling, his lips held a trace of amusement, as if he was holding back a laugh. It was there when he spoke, his lips opening wider on one side and tilting up at the corner. When he smiled, the slant was even more noticeable, showing most of his fine white teeth on that side. The crooked smile was boyish and roguish and intimate, all at the same time.

  But his eyes were clearly his best feature. A bright, vivid blue. She remembered reading in one of Father’s Hindu translations that blue eyes were associated with the sixth chakra, and indicative of people with great insight and observation.

  He had certainly observed her frequently enough.

  But sometimes, like several evenings ago, when she had called him a hero, a shadow had muddied the vibrant blue as if within his mind a curtain had fallen. Teasing one moment, guarded the next. What was he hiding? What secrets stole the light from those beautiful blue eyes?

  Realizing that she was staring, she forced herself to look away. “As I have said, I have no choice.”

  “But you do, don’t you? Even though you know it’s not safe, you persist in putting yourself at risk. I have to wonder why. Is it simply to defy me?”

  “If this is another attempt to intimidate me, Mr. Hardesty—”

  “Intimidate you? When have you ever been intimidated by me?”

  Without warning, he stopped and put his hand on her arm, forcing her to stop, too. “This has nothing to do with the right-of-way, Audra. It’s your safety that concerns me. Someone orchestrated a landslide less than a mile from your cabin. Until we know why—or who his next target might be—you shouldn’t be unprotected in such a remote place.”

  “That’s absurd. Why would anyone target me? We threaten no one. Besides, I have Curtis.”

  “Does he have a weapon? Have either of you ever fired a gun?”

  “No, but—”

  “Hell.” Taking his hand from her arm, he dragged his fingers through his hair, mussing it even further. “I’ll talk to him. Show him how to shoot.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “It is necessary!” He rounded on her, his expression fierce. “If not for your peace of mind, then for mine. Question my motives if you will, Audra, but I worry about you. With all the scrapes you get yourself into, someone should at least try to keep you from getting into more trouble. And with or without your permission, I’ll do what needs to be done to ensure that. Now come along. We’ll be late.” And taking her arm again, he all but dragged her toward the church.

  Audra was too astounded to resist.

  * * *

  The Come All You Sinners Church of Heartbreak Creek was a peculiar mix of different faiths and old and new architecture, decorated with garish artwork on the wainscoted walls and religious statuettes on the windowsills. It was presided over by a wild-haired, arm-waving man in his later years, accompanied by his pianist wife, Biddy, and the three most tone-deaf choir ladies Ethan had ever heard.

  All of which only added to the irritation still simmering after his latest confrontation with Audra Pearsall, God bless her.

  Mostly, he was mad at himself.

  What had come over him? Why had he been so insistent that she leave her cabin? Because of the right-of-way?

  Partially.

  Because he truly thought she was in danger?

  Not really—although with her penchant for getting into trouble, he did worry about her being out there in the woods in a remote cabin that was barely livable. So who was he fooling with his knight in shining armor posturing?

  Only himself, he realized. Because mostly he wanted her in town so that he could see her more often. He had missed her. For some unfathomable, illogical, inexplicable reason, he liked being around her.

  He scowled over at the cause of his aggravation . . . sitting demurely by his side, her eyes piously downcast, a serene expression on her face, despite the constant babbling of her father on her other side.

  Probably asleep.

  As he would be, if Pastor Rickman would keep his voice down.

  In an effort to shift his thoughts away from his own foolishness and the scent and warmth and soft breathing of the woman next to him, Ethan looked around, mentally cataloging all the architectural oddities present in the small one-room church.

  Hardly a fine example of ecclesiastical architecture. Certainly not indicative of the Victorian Gothic style popularized by Richard Hunt, or Ruskin’s medievalism, or even the lofty designs of James Renwick, Jr., Ethan’s mentor and the man after whom he had named his horse. No intricate cornices, marble columns, mosaics, or inlays here. Just the simple, clean lines of hand-hewn, timber frame construction, with pegged joints, open beams, and layers of furniture wax lovingly buffed to a glossy sheen.

  He guessed it had once been a barn. The scuffe
d floor was relatively new, slightly warped, and showed gaps where it joined the walls. As far as he could tell, there was no access to the steeple, which meant it had probably been added later simply to identify the structure as a church. And judging by the mismatched molding and crooked joints, the peaked windows had also been recent renovations, crafted by a carpenter with insufficient math skills—no doubt the same one who had built the sagging front door.

  Yet, despite the inconsistencies and poor craftsmanship, the Come All You Sinners Church of Heartbreak Creek had a comfortable feel to it, like a pair of well-worn slippers at the end of the day. Homey and welcoming, with its eclectic architecture and diverse congregation, it perfectly suited a town struggling to find its purpose.

  Ethan liked it. It gave him peace. So much so, that by the last “amen”—even with the raucous pulpit-pounding and off-key music—he had achieved such a state of grace he was able to turn to the exasperating, unquestionably pigheaded, and utterly captivating Miss Audra Pearsall with a smile on his face.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  His smile faded. “What do you mean?”

  “Why are you grimacing like that?”

  Before he could find a suitable answer, the door of the church burst open and the Hopewell boy yelled, “Fire at the sluice!”

  * * *

  “I wonder what’s taking them so long.” Edwina scarcely glanced at her card before dropping it on the pile. “You don’t think anyone’s hurt, do you?”

  Audra drew a card. Shoving her spectacles higher on her nose, she studied it, saw she didn’t need a four of clubs, and dropped it on top of Edwina’s discard. “If so, we would have heard by now.”

  It had been hours since the men had left the church. Both the noon meal and the evening meal had passed, and after playing cards in Lucinda’s office for most of the afternoon, they were all feeling restless. Thankfully, they were spared the rambunctious Brodie children—the four oldest had gone to the livery to bedevil Mr. Driscoll, and Winnie had taken the baby and Father up to a vacant room for naps awhile ago. Curtis had left with the other men.

  “Perhaps they caught him,” Edwina said.

  “Then they should be back soon. Gin.” Lucinda spread her cards on the table then sat back with a yawn, the picture of indolence in her lovely pink taffeta frock and ivory fichu, obviously as bored with the game as the others were. “You ladies are terrible card players.”

  Audra agreed. Relieved to have the game over, she removed her spectacles and slipped them into her skirt pocket.

  “It won’t be long.” Prudence straightened the cards into a neat stack, then slipped them into the card case. “Even Thomas can’t track in the dark.”

  Pru was a fusser, Audra had noticed. If she wasn’t tidying the discard pile or tugging the starched white sleeve over her scarred wrist or smoothing the creases in the brown skirt that was a shade darker than her cinnamon-colored skin, she was checking the pins in her tightly bound bun.

  Audra sensed she was just as tightly wound inside. The only time she had seen the beautiful mulatto completely relax was when she was with Thomas Redstone. There was a bond there that Audra didn’t completely understand, but it was obvious Pru cared very deeply for the Cheyenne warrior. Which made it all the more difficult to understand why she would leave him to go all the way to Indiana to teach in a school for freed men and women. How could they look at each other the way they did, and still choose to be apart?

  But then, Audra had never been in love.

  “I just want it over.” Edwina’s blue eyes glittered. She had steadily become more frazzled as the afternoon had progressed. Earlier, before Winnie had volunteered to relieve her of the restive baby, she had seemed on the brink of tears. Now she seemed closer to hysteria.

  “The children are running wild, Whit has yet to sleep through the night, and now with Declan gone all the time . . .” The petulant note became a quaver. “I can’t do it all. I need him at home. Especially with you leaving tomorrow, Pru.”

  “Oh, dear. You’re getting yourself worked up again.”

  “Don’t ‘oh, dear’ me, Pru. I have a right to be upset. And not about you leaving me—I know teaching has been your dream forever. But sometimes I feel it takes every ounce of my strength just to climb out of bed in the morning.”

  “Are you certain you’re fully recovered?” Lucinda asked. “After all, it’s only been two months.”

  “Two months and ten days.”

  “What does Doctor Boyce say?”

  Fearing they were about to launch into a grisly recounting of the entire birthing process, Audra looked out the window and wondered if it would be rude to excuse herself. Already the sun was sinking toward the mountains. If they didn’t leave soon, it would be dark before they reached the cabin.

  “He says I’m healthy as a horse.” Edwina sounded disgusted, although Audra couldn’t fathom why. “It’s embarrassing—having a giant baby with hardly any trouble at all. It’s not as if I’m a field hand.”

  Pru gave her a look.

  “Field hands can be white.”

  “Not where we’re from.”

  “Have you talked to Declan about all this?” Lucinda interrupted.

  An even less desirable subject. Audra envied the candor and closeness shared by these women—something that had been missing from her life of late—but she wasn’t quite ready to be thrown into an intimate discussion of marital relations, which she knew even less about than childbearing.

  Edwina sniffed. “I’ve tried, but you know how he is. I declare, it would be easier to put dancing pumps on a cat than get words out of that man.”

  Reaching across the table, Pru took her sister’s hand in her own. “I know how difficult it’s been since Whit was born. You’ve worked so hard. But you can’t handle the household chores, four rowdy children, and a new baby all on your own. Ask R.D. to pitch in. Talk to Declan. Perhaps once this vandal is apprehended, he can take the older children out to the ranch for a few days.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he’d like that.” Pulling her hands free, Edwina dabbed at her damp cheeks. “Anything to get away from me.”

  “I’m confused.” Lucinda glanced from one sister to the other, her brow puckered in a frown. “Are you upset because you’re feeling overwhelmed, Edwina? Or because you’re mad at Declan?”

  “Neither. Both. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  Seeing that as her opening, Audra pushed back her chair. “It’s been a wonderful afternoon, ladies, but—”

  “You’re not leaving?” Lucinda looked shocked. “You can’t go back to that cabin tonight. Not with that miscreant lurking about. What if he attacked you?”

  “I doubt he has any interest in us. Besides, with Cleo—oh my goodness! Cleo!” Audra shot to her feet.

  “Who’s Cleo?”

  “Father’s dog. She’s been locked inside all day.” Audra grabbed her bonnet and reticule from a nearby table. “Poor thing. She’s probably frantic.”

  “I’ll send Yancey to fetch her.”

  “You don’t understand. She’s blind. She would be terrified if he approached her. Maybe even run off.”

  Audra couldn’t bear to think of the little dog lost in the woods, unable to see or protect herself. It would be the end of her. Which would probably mean the end of Father, too, since Cleo was the only thing he seemed to recognize lately.

  “Audra, be sensible.” Lucinda rose, her alarm apparent. “It’s not safe. If I let you go and anything happened to you, I would never forgive myself.”

  Ethan Hardesty’s words just before he ran from the church echoed through Audra’s mind. Stay here until we get back. No telling where he’ll strike next. She thought he had been trying to frighten her. But what if he was right?

  She might be hardheaded, but she didn’t consider herself foolish.

  “All r
ight. We’ll stay the night. But first, I must get Cleo. I can’t leave her locked up all night in a place she’s not yet accustomed to. Please tell Winnie to watch over Father until either Curtis or I come back.”

  “Of course. But you’re not going out there alone. I’ll send Yancey with you.”

  * * *

  “What do you think, Thomas?” Sheriff Brodie asked. “White? Indian? White man trying to make it look like an Indian? A trapper?”

  “Could be one of those yellow folks,” Curtis suggested. “They wear funny shoes that might leave a track like that.”

  Ethan watched the Cheyenne study the trail, his blunt-tipped fingers lightly playing over the dips and ridges in the dirt. It was the third time they’d covered this area. He was starting to lose hope as daylight faded. And he was hungry.

  “Not Indian.” Redstone pointed at several broken twigs on a nearby bush. “Too sloppy.” He continued along the trail, carefully keeping to the side so he wouldn’t muss what prints there were. “Do the yellowskins have horses?”

  “Not usually,” Ethan answered. “The railroad ships them by train wherever they’re needed. Although I guess it wouldn’t be too difficult to get a horse. Anyone report one missing, Sheriff?”

  Brodie shook his head. “The Chinese around here aren’t known for thievery, anyway. They may have some odd practices, and dress funny with that long pigtail, but I’ve never had trouble with any of them.”

  Ethan sighed. Then who was doing this? And why? Who would benefit most by keeping the bridge line from coming through? Another railroad?

  It wasn’t inconceivable. Friction between competing railroads often erupted in violence. He also knew that a route through the southern Rockies could be worth a fortune over the years. Had their rival, the Southern Utah and Atlantic, sent someone to impede the project?

  Wearily, he rubbed a hand over his stinging eyes. The stink of scorched wood and lamp oil hung in the air, and thin wisps of smoke still coiled above the smoldering boards scattered down the slope into the ravine. Whoever had done this wanted the lumber totally destroyed this time, and had doused it with lamp oil before setting it afire. Fortunately, most of the wood was still green and didn’t burn well, or they might have lost more than three sections. As it was, the damage was more of a nuisance than a major setback—but Ethan would now have to report another delay to his employers.