Sweeten the Swindler

by Adams, Dallis

  What the hell was wrong with him?

  He slipped back deeper in the shadowy woods, away from temptation and leaned against a tree to wait until she left. As he watched her, he vowed he would discover what exactly she was working on.

  Surprise, and anxiety swept over Maxine as she realized she hadn't been notified of at least two deliveries—and more, by the looks of what was written in the hidden ledger book she'd found in a locked drawer of the desk. She'd managed to open the locked compartment by using her hairpins. Yes, the shipment Uncle Geary had mentioned earlier that afternoon had obviously arrived, if the notation in the second ledger was any indication. Other shipments she hadn't known about were also in the secret ledger.

  What was going on? Why wasn't her uncle informing her of all the shipments? She peered at the bold slanted slashes that comprised the numbers. Definitely Uncle Geary's handwriting.

  Several hours earlier, after her uncle had been so rude to Jake and had said something about a shipment—one she hadn't known about, Maxine had decided to investigate after everyone had gone home for the day. When she'd questioned her uncle about the shipment, he'd shrugged it off and told her that he'd lied to get her away from Jake. Which didn't make sense, either. Since when did Uncle Geary ever disapprove of any of the men who courted her? It was as if her uncle knew Jake.

  Yes. Her uncle had begun to unravel the moment he laid eyes on Jake. That he let slip the late arrival of a shipment she hadn't known about was testimony that Jake rattled him. Which made Maxine want to investigate and count the inventory herself.

  There had been stock items in crates up high, hidden on a back shelf, ones that hadn't been tagged with a code. Had Mr. Bodman, the supervisor of the factory and store, forgotten to tell her of the items? It didn't make sense, though, because deliveries were always on a Tuesday. Last Tuesday, which was five days ago, he'd told her of the delivery. Why was her uncle expecting a delivery today?

  But now that she'd actually counted, and compared the sales information with the shipments, and her numbers were much lower than the second ledger and than what was stored in the back. She usually didn't take inventory; that was Bodman's job to assign to other employees. If he didn't take inventory, then he assigned Florida Crow, the cashier, to do it.

  Maxine would write on the tags, and Florida would attach them with string to the sale items. Florida was a good person. Hard working. The woman followed directions to the letter. She also labored in the factory along with her husband, Oscar Crow, assembling the miner's hats. Oscar also helped with the deliveries. Sometimes he was gone for a couple of nights to help with the task. She and Oscar lived in a small cottage on the edge of town with their six-month-old son, Sinclair.

  Was her uncle doing something illegal? Surely not. There must be a reason he wasn't telling her about all the inventory. And what about this company on the hidden ledgers— Geisinger Manufacturing? She hadn't heard of it before.

  But why? Worley and Florida know about her uncle's dealings that he was keeping from her? Worley Bodman was a giant of a man with a big beard. Gruff. But underneath all that bushy hair he was as gentle as a bear cub. She decided to question him when she got a chance. And then she'd confront her uncle.

  Just as she decided that, she closed the ledgers and looked up. There among the trees she saw Jake retreating into the shadows. Even though it was dark, the moon was up, casting the world in a silvery sheen. And even if his back was to her, she knew it was him. She couldn't miss those panther-like movements—all lanky smoothness. She shivered in awareness and her heart hammered.

  What was he doing here? Was he spying on her? She recalled the reply she'd gotten from her man of trade. Whisper Railroad didn't exist. Maybe the fact he lied about working for a nonexistent company should bother her more. But for some reason, it didn't. His fabrication only made her more curious about him, and what had brought him to Blessings. She wouldn't confront him about the fib. She wanted to know more about him first. Maybe Coco's dream was right. Maybe fate had brought Jake to Blessings.

  Who was he, anyway? Why had her uncle reacted the way he had? She'd thought it was because of her, that he hadn't liked seeing her with Jake because he was being protective. But was it something else? The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stirred. She had a feeling it was more than that. Or something else entirely. Her uncle had never shown anything but a mild interest as to who were her friends or who courted her. Until now.

  As she returned the ledgers back on the shelf next to her desk, she felt Jake's presence, and instinctively knew he still watched her.

  She left the light on and went into the other room. Then she slipped outside and crept around the path that led behind the wooded area and where Jake was. As she neared him, she saw him stiffen. At the same time, Varney barked.

  "There you are, you little varmint," Jake said and leaned down to scoop up the small canine.

  Varney looked at her over Jake's broad shoulder and whined. That's when Jake turned and acknowledged her. "Miss Sweeten. What are you doing out in dark woods at this hour?" He gave her an appreciative look. "Not that I'm complaining."

  "That was going to be my question, Mr. Stark. Are you spying on me?"

  "Of course I am, or I was."

  "Excuse me?" That he would admit to the dastardly deed, shocked her.

  "Well, I admit at first that wasn't my intentions," he replied as he rubbed the dog's ears. "Varney escaped and ran into the copse of trees. Of course, I followed. Then, when I saw the lovely vision of you through the candle-lit window, sitting as pretty as a picture, I admit I forgot my original goal to find Varney. In fact, I lost my head, if you must know. And, frankly, I couldn't help but become mesmerized as I admired you from afar."

  The warmth in his gaze as he said the flowery praise caused her tummy to flop like a trout in the nearby stream. She could feel her cheeks growing hot, and was glad the trees partially hid the glow of the half moon. Not that the moonlight would show the redness that she knew colored her cheeks. The moon's rays washed out all color in the trees, leaving different shades of gray—all but Jake's eyes which were already a silvery blue. But the blue had been washed away, only leaving a silver as bright as the stars. She cocked her head at him. "Flattery will give you no special treatment, Mr. Stark."

  "I can always hope," he said with a charming, lopsided grin.

  "How did a gimpy dog get away from you?"

  "I have no idea." He shifted Varney from the crook of one arm to the other. "I had set him down to unlock my door at the boardinghouse, and next thing I knew I saw Varney running away, holding his lame leg out. It's amazing how fast that dog can move when he has a notion. He led me into this grove of trees."

  She didn't know if she totally believed him, but it made sense. Varney did tend to ignore commands, especially from Jake. That Jake took the time to chase after the dog, to protect the canine for its own good, made warm embers shoot down her spine to her toes, making her feel cozy despite the fall nip in the air.

  "Miss Sweeten, what are you doing, wandering outside in this cool autumn night air without your pelisse?"

  Why was it that his comment made her suddenly shiver? Power of suggestion? Was her trembling from the cold? Or was it from her awareness of him? "I was feeling warm until just now."

  "Allow me," he said as set Varney down with a stern, "Stay." Then he took off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders.

  His warmth was trapped in the confines of the coat. The spicy nutmeg combined with fresh pine scents that described Jake Stark clung to the coat and cocooned her in comfort. She found herself reveling in all that was him.

  He lifted Varney in his arms again, careful to not jostle the dog's leg that was still wrapped in gauze. "Can I walk you home?"

  "Let me lock up first," she replied, then suddenly thought of the other ledger. How was she going to lock the book up again? And in Jake's presence? She couldn't very well use her bent-up hairpin to lock the thing again. He would think her actions
more than passing strange.

  "I couldn't help but notice you looked worried as you sat in your office just a while ago. If there's anything you need for me to do, I am at your service. And I know how to be discreet."

  "That's very kind of you, Mr. Stark, but that isn't necessary." Clutching his coat around her neck, she led the way back to the office, with Jake following at a decent distance, although she was acutely aware of his presence. When she reached the back door, she turned toward him. "Wait here and I'll be back in a jiffy."

  "Alright, Miss Sweeten. Varney and I will be honored to do your bidding."

  "Thank you," she replied and hurried into the office. She memorized a particular page in the secret ledger that interested her, then crammed the book inside the deep drawer and then slammed it shut. She picked up the bent hairpin and jammed it into the lock, wiggling it to the right, hoping to catch the mechanism, but the hairpin broke. She had a devil of a time getting the slim piece out of the lock.

  Cursing under her breath, she reached for her coiffure to get another pin. Now one side of her hair hung down to her shoulder with the other side still up. She jammed the new hairpin in the opening, hoping this time she'd be successful. Biting on her lower lip, perspiration dotting her forehead, she leaned down close to the brass lock and tilted the hairpin at an angle, trying to catch the spring that would release the plate.

  "Do you need help?" Jake asked as he leaned on the door jam and watched her.

  She flushed, embarrassed to be caught trying to pry a lock to make it re-lock. "I told you to wait outside."

  He shrugged. "Alright, then I'll go back to counting the stars." He turned to go.

  "Do you know how to jimmy a lock?" she blurted before she realized she was even going to ask.

  "Of course."

  "Except I want to lock it up again."

  "It should be the same as unlocking except in the direction." He withdrew a pick that she was certain was made for just this purpose and easily secured the lock.

  "What kind of a tool is that?"

  "A lock pick."

  A thief's device. Who was this man? Intriguing. He was a mixture of good-natured decency, tinged with crookedness, cloaked in mystery. "Do I want to ask?"

  He knelt by the deep drawer and inserted the lock pick, then lifted the drawer by the handled and wiggled the tool while inside the lock. "Not now, you don't."

  "And why is that?"

  "Because I'm helping you?" he replied, lowering the drawer slightly while he experimented with holding the pick at various angles. "And because I have questions of my own. Such as, why are you breaking into a locked drawer in your own desk?"

  "Right. We don't have time," she quickly replied with a quiet huff to herself just as she heard the mechanism click into place. Because she wasn't about to answer his question, especially since it involved her uncle. She had to resolve the mystery before she would let Jake in on answers she wasn't sure she wanted to share.

  After pulling out his devise, he jiggled the drawer to test it. The cabinet wouldn't budge, which meant it was locked once again.

  Maxine heaved a sigh of relief. Then she frowned at Jake, who was giving her an appraising look as he cocked his head at her. She held out her hand as if to physically ward off his questions. "Just ... don't ask. I'm not saying anything. I have decisions to make and more investigating before I jump to any conclusions."

  "Of course." He leaned in close and whispered, "Your secret is safe with me."

  The waft of his breath across the sensitive shell of her ear sent tiny bunny paws hopping down her spine. The fresh pine scent mixed with the more exotic aroma of nutmeg sent shivers chasing after the bunnies. All she'd have to do was turn her head to brush her lips against his. To her horror, she let out a gasp of awareness. Quickly, she moved away from all his masculine temptation, toward the coat rack and grabbed her pelisse, hoping the action would disguise her reaction to him.

  When Jake emitted a low chuckle, she realized her attempt had been in vain. What a cad to acknowledge her reaction to him with that knowing laugh. He was arrogant and rude. He thought he was a gift to all women. Well. He could think again. Even as she ranted to herself over him, she cursed herself. What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she control her reactions toward him? She wasn't a young school miss just out of the classroom. She was a grown woman. And it wasn't as if she had no experience with the opposite sex. She'd been courted and kissed numerous times. Then why was she acting so unnerved?

  Soul mate.

  Her cheeks burned as she quickly donned the wrap and raised her chin before motioning him over the office's threshold with a sweep of her hand. "After you."

  "I'll walk you to your door."

  "I prefer to go alone." She cringed over hearing her own haughty tone.

  "The hour is late. I wouldn't dream of allowing you to walk the streets by yourself." He held out his forearm in a gallant manner.

  She glared at his arm as if it were a snake poised to strike. She wanted to refuse. To reject him. But in doing so, would that demonstrate how unnerved she really was? She didn't want to give him the power to unnerve her. And she wasn't about to hop off like a scared bunny. Bunny again. Why? She was way off-track, like a runaway train. Well. She would just have to right herself. "Alright, then. Suit yourself."

  Varney, who was cradled in the crook of his other arm, let out a cute little warbling howl and then gave her a doggie smile.

  As she accepted Jake's escort, she felt the crispness of his shirt sleeve, and the hardness of his muscles beneath her fingers. That he knew where she lived should have been a surprise but it wasn't. Jake seemed to know a lot about Blessings, even though he'd been here for only a couple of weeks or so.

  The moon was bright, leaving Blessings in a sparkling contrasts of various grays and blacks. She glanced up at Jake. His silvery eyes rivaled the moon. If she stared at them too long, she had a feeling she would by spellbound. So she quickly glanced away. Too soon, the lights from inside her uncle's house spilled out into the darkness, batting away the bewitching silver of the moon, casting a yellow glow.

  She didn't want Jake to come too close to the house. It wasn't because of him—well, it partially was, if she was to be truthful. But it was more because of her uncle's negative reaction to Jake. She didn't want to incite any discord. "Thank you for your escort. I will check Varney's leg day after tomorrow ... at noon if you'll bring him around back."

  "I appreciate it," he said as he grasped her by the hand and bowed over it. He really did enthrall her. As he leaned over her hand and brushed her knuckles with his warm, supple mouth, she couldn't repress the shudder of desire that rose up. A wizard, she decided. If there were such a thing.

  "Maxine."

  She froze at hearing her uncle's voice. She glanced behind her and Uncle Geary stepped out from the shadows of the porch. One side of his face was colored in harsh yellow light; the other in dark gray. With the harsh expression he wore, the lighting gave him an eerily evil look.

  Uncle Geary? Evil? No. What was wrong with her tonight? Yes, she'd found a second ledger that didn't match her accounts, but she promised herself she wouldn't jump to any conclusions. Maybe she didn't know about all of his businesses. But as she stared at her uncle's angry expression, she decided she would keep investigating.

  "Good evening, Uncle Geary."

  "Get inside, Niece. I want a word with Mr. Stark. Alone."

  "No, Uncle. Whatever you have to say to Mr. Stark you can say in front of me." She said it in as firm of a tone as she could manage. "I don't want a ruckus because of me."

  "I said get in the house. I'll no' argue with ye."

  Whenever her uncle got really angry, which was rare, his Scottish brogue cropped up. She knew he'd worked for years to get rid of it. He'd claimed it was because he'd wanted to be more sophisticated; that he didn't want to be ridiculed behind his back like he'd been when first arriving on Ellis Island. She hadn't seen any prejudice toward him or anybody else with
Scottish accents ... well, not in Blessings. But back east might be a different story.

  "It's alright, Miss Sweeten. I'll have a private word with your uncle," Jake said in an almost tender tone. "And I promise not to cause a ruckus."

  When he gave her a gentle push toward the door, she finally relented. But she decided to watch from the window.

  Jake watched Maxine leave, smiling at her when she turned to give him one last worried look. When she was gone, he whispered to Varney. "Attila," he said, using the safe word that his friend, Theo, and told him, the one that would supposedly cure the dog. That darned Gypsy and his so-called magic. Every hour the dog thought it was hurt made Jake feel guilty. He didn't want the small bundle of might to even have a hint of suffering, whether the pain was imaginary or not. Then, with wishful thinking that the dog would obey, he whispered, "Go home."

  Surprisingly, the dog ran through the copse of trees, toward Main Street. Jake only hoped the little terrier ended up at the boardinghouse. Tomorrow he and Varney would check out of the place and set up camp outside of Blessings. One reason was so that Varney wouldn't be locked out of the boardinghouse anymore. Number two, he could make plans without busybodies watching him.

  He turned his attention toward his nemesis.

  "Let's take this away from the house," Pasley said and led Jake to the dark side of the house, where Worley Bodman stood, Pasley's foreman and hired bully. The man was easily a foot taller than either Pasley or Jake. The bulk of his chest and body indicated he probably weighed forty pounds more than Jake.

  "Now then," Pasley said. "Who are you?"

  He blinked at his nemesis and gave him a look that he hoped indicated how asinine he thought the questions was. "Jacob. Stark. Although most people call me Jake."

  Pasley frowned as he paused. Then he slowly asked, "Are you any relation to David Stark?"

  "Why do you ask?" Frankly, he was surprised over the question. Asking that indicated Pasley had known his brother. Or at least, had associated with David. But Pasley was anxious to know. And Jake wasn't about to make it easy on Pasley.