Sweeten the Swindler

by Adams, Dallis

  "Never mind," Pasley said. "It's best that you just ride out of town. Otherwise, I'll have Worley work you over, which will make you wish you had left."

  Jake plucked a leaf from a tree and twirled it between his finger and thumb, not bothering to look at Pasley. "I'll leave once I finish my business."

  His nemesis snapped his jaw closed with a click of his teeth. "What business?"

  "Whisper Railroad," Jake answered, not about to tell his enemy the real reason. It was a game he relished. Even though Jake had known Pasley would associate David with him, Jake wanted to leave the man guessing ... he wanted Pasley to worry over what Jake would do. Jake played with his brother's killer, taunted him by scratching his temple as if confused. "I'm sure your niece mentioned to you that I was a surveyor."

  "Surveyor, my foot," Pasley muttered under his breath, but clear enough that told Jake that he'd wanted to be heard.

  "Excuse me?" Jake responded in a low tone, lacing the words with a viciousness.

  "Bodman." Pasley's voice sounded gravelly as he called out his bully's name.

  The over-sized, burly man frowned at his boss, and then stepped toward Jake. "Ah, Mr. Stark. Sir. You better do as Mr. Pasley says or else I am gonna have to hit you."

  "You can certainly try." Jake made his tone mild, letting it be known that he wasn't worried. That he might even be bored.

  "Try? Why do you say that?" Bodman asked, scratching his temple. "Do you think I can't make a fist?"

  "Oh, I'm certain you can make a fist. But connect with a part of me? We'll see."

  "I tried to warn you," Bodman said before he reluctantly pulled back his large hand and bunched his thick fingers into a ball.

  Jake's plan was to taunt both Pasley and his muscle. Yet, at the same time, he wanted to paint Pasley with his true colors—to show Maxine just how lousy of a character her uncle had. And to have her start doubting the man's relationship to her. Because she was the one who people really admired. And, in turn, people accepted Pasley. Jake was determined to take away those coattails that Pasley held so tightly.

  "Can I put my dog down? I don't want Varney to get injured even more."

  "Of course," Bodman replied.

  Jake lowered Varney next to a pine tree in a stack of soft pine needles with an order to stay. The terrier gave a sharp bark, but then laid with his head on his paws. Jake straightened and took a deep breath, readying himself for the fight that he'd promised Maxine he wouldn't participate in. But he couldn't help it if he became a pugilist's punching bag. "Alright, I'm ready."

  Bodman's fist hurled toward Jake's jaw. His size made him slow. So Jake was able to duck the blow. As he dipped, he moved behind Bodman. The burly man looked confused for a moment as he searched for Jake. When he turned, he saw his objective, and swung at him again, this time with his other fist.

  "Bodman. Bloody 'ell, hit him."

  Again, Bodman swung. Again, Jake dodged. But the third time Bodman flung his fist at Jake, he allowed Bodman's knuckles to graze him. Pain exploded on his cheekbone.

  "Again," Pasley ordered.

  "I'm sorry, but you told me one hit, and that's what I did," Bodman countered.

  Pasley looked irritated and opened his mouth to say more, but then shut it. He stared at Bodman's handiwork and then gave Jake a vicious smile. "If you're staying to do business, then so-be-it. But keep away from Maxine, or there will be more pain coming your way."

  As Jake watched the man who ruined David's life stomp back toward the house, his lips curved in a satisfied smile of his own. Then he turned back toward town and the boardinghouse, looking forward to tomorrow.

  The whole episode was worth it. Because he couldn't wait until Maxine saw his black eye so he could get some that loving sympathy.

  With that thought in mind, he scooped up Varney and whistled Dixie, preparing for another phase toward destroying his nemesis.

  Chapter Six

  Yes, Jake's nemesis was rattled. Good.

  A grim sort of satisfaction swept over him as he retraced the path Maxine took every day into the foothills of the Sierra Nevada. He glanced up. The sun had passed its zenith. The day was crisp this early afternoon, the scent of fall in the air. His Bay horse, Tenax, was surefooted as he guided the gelding through the trees, the soft pine needles muffling the sounds of its hooves. He'd made a sort of sling for Varney—closed on one end and open on the other—as well as a harness from some reins he'd purchase from the general store to secure the tiny canine in the sling. He'd tied the carrier so that it hung against one side of his neck and under one arm. Varney seemed to like it. The dog was sleeping, its warm body curled in the soft-sided sling against Jake's side.

  Now that he'd gained some trust with Maxine through Varney, he wanted to plan an encounter with her to further their camaraderie by having her accidentally bump into him.

  Since he'd followed her on several occasions upon arriving in Blessings, he pretty much knew her routine as she went for walks every morning to look for injured critters. Past the creek, she usually she veered off into various directions, but she always started basically in the same direction. And he planned on setting up his equipment and tent so she would inadvertently stumble into his camp. He'd checked out of the boardinghouse that morning.

  The first time he'd trailed her, she'd found a nest of baby rabbits. One had tumbled away from its siblings. She'd rescued it by replacing the bundle of fur back into the nest.

  The next day she'd rescued a falcon that had gotten its leg caught in a bramble of honey locust thorns. The third day it was a slender, sleek-looking ermine caught in a rope trap. She'd untangled the rope from the creature's body. He shook his head as he walked deeper into the forest. It still amazed him that the critter hadn't bitten her. They seemed to all know she was there to help them.

  From the moment he saw her he was fascinated by her. She seemed to have an uncanny sense about animals and when they were in trouble. And he swore it was the same ermine that had rubbed against her booted foot the other day. If he was prone to fantasy, he would swear she was a gypsy witch. But the witches he'd known from Cojocaru's Medicine Show were phonies. Cheats. He knew their tricks. With food as a reward, Theo trained dogs for hours, days, months to jump through hoops, play dead, or pretend to be injured. The lion tamers did the same.

  But he didn't know hers. Because surely she had something up her sleeve that he'd yet to discover. However, the animals she associated with were wild. Maybe she'd lured them to her before. Made them used to her. Because there wasn't any other explanation other than some sort of magical connection, which was ridiculous. He didn't believe in telepathy—not between humans, and certainly not between a human and an animal.

  Yet he couldn't quit thinking about it, or about her. In this huge forest how could she know where to go? He wanted to know more about her. How she could sense such things. How her mind worked.

  And how she could ever be related to a man as crass as Geary Pasley. She looked nothing like him.

  Her gentle features—that wonderfully straight nose and perfect rosebud mouth combined with her creamy skin—contrasted with Pasley's bulbous nose, thin mouth and ruddy, rough-looking complexion. And Pasley was uncouth with his boorish mannerisms.

  Well. Maybe he was being unfair. The man obviously recognized his surname as belonging to the man he'd conned—Jake's brother. Which had obviously cracked the thin veneer of his respectability. A sense of justice washed over Jake. Maybe if he rattled the flimflammer enough, he could trip the man up to show his true colors.

  Now Pasley made his livelihood on the fruits of his brother's creativity—a fact that burned a hole in Jake's gut.

  How could somebody like Pasley carry the same blood as this fey creature that was Maxine Sweeten? Geary Pasley was her mother's brother. But still. Their relationship was difficult for him to wrap his mind around.

  When her relative had roughly pulled her away from Jake, and he saw her grimace of pain, it had taken everything Jake had to ke
ep from hitting Geary Pasley smack in the nose. He would have to watch over Maxine. Make sure she wasn't caught up in the cross-fire. He must keep her safe. He hadn't anticipated this strong impulse to protect her. But she was as different as a flower was to a rock.

  Too, he realized Maxine hadn't known about a late shipment when it was Maxine who was in charge of the accounts. That fact niggled at Jake. And he knew the reason. Ol' Pasley was cooking the books. He wasn't claiming all his inventory and profits. He wouldn't put it past the fellow con artist. Besides, lying to Maxine made him feel ... dirty.

  At first he'd wanted to get close to Maxine so he could get her to trust him enough to buy phony Whisper Railroad shares. Which would, of course, end up bankrupting her and her uncle. But after meeting her in the flesh, after seeing those lively eyes snap with intelligence, after witnessing the kindness and affinity she carried toward injured animals, and after experiencing that brief taste of her luscious lips, the whole plan made his skin chafe—like he imagined a mountain lion would feel rubbing its fur the wrong way.

  Maybe there was another way to ruin Pasley.

  And to leave Maxine out of it.

  He found a perfect spot to set up camp close to a small brook. The location was shortly after the stream where Maxine veered off in various directions. As he set up his surveying equipment and adjusted the lens, he pondered over the new plan that was beginning to form in his mind.

  In a few days the weekend was coming up. Sometime then—maybe late Saturday night or Sunday when it was dark and the factory and store were closed—he would break into Pasley's office, and hopefully the original blueprints of the miner hats created in David's hand. At least then Jake would have proof that the design was his brother's. Too, he would watch and wait. See if an opportunity would rise to take Pasley down. But he didn't want to hurt Maxine. He hoped that he could take off her rose-colored glasses so she could see her uncle for what he was. A criminal.

  And as far as the blueprints ... even though David had lost the design in a game of poker, Jake could at least let the world know that the miner hat design belonged to his brother, that it was David Stark who had been the genius, not Geary Pasley.

  However, what if Pasley had cheated during the poker game? As he set up the tent spokes, he thought about it. Exactly. In his gut, he knew Pasley had taken advantage of his brother. Otherwise, David would have never wagered his design.

  By now it was pretty much impossible to prove, which irritated him to all hell. His only option was to ruin the man. He could prove that Pasley was a thief and a liar.

  Somehow, though, that didn't seem like enough.

  POCKETS OF EARLY MORNING fog hovered in the Sierra Nevada as Maxine walked farther into the forest. Shivering, she tightened the strings to her tweed cap and then shoved her gloved hands into the pockets of her matching dress coat.

  Pine needles crunched under her sturdy leather boy's boots. The boy's footwear was sturdier and more suitable for walking in the woods and for her rescue missions than her lady's boots. She stepped into a wet patch which caused cold moisture to seep through the seam that secured the sole to the leather. She shivered again. But she marched onward, determined to search the area where she'd discovered the trap last week, instinctively knowing another animal laid caught in the iron teeth of a trap in the vicinity. The last trap she'd located beneath low-growing foxtail pines near the Yuba River.

  As she ventured farther into the forest, her senses alert to injured animals, she thought about Jake. He was a surprise. A man's character couldn't be faked when he handled animals. And he'd been unusually tender toward Varney, the small Yorkshire terrier, even as the animal bit down on his thumb.

  Although the terrier had growled at Jake, she knew it was because the canine was ... not injured precisely, but more like the terrier thought it was injured. She had a strange connection to all animals, one she couldn't explain. But she seemed to know a creature's mood and whether or not it was injured. But Varney puzzled her.

  The scent of smoke broke her out of her reverie. She looked to her right to see a small flame and tendrils of vapor from somebody's campfire. Next to the pit was a tent. Then came a rustle of bush limbs ahead of her—a place where rabbits tended to build their homes. No, she hadn't sensed a stressed creature, just cautious ones.

  She stopped and glanced toward the camp, hoping whoever was there wasn't a hunter, or a trapper. An object reflected in the early morning sun. It looked similar to a camera on a tripod. Although she knew it wasn't that. It was surveying equipment.

  Then she heard a familiar bark. Varney popped out of through the canvas flaps of the tent and ran to her, spinning like a top, and then rubbing against her skirts. The terrier's leg seemed to be well, which supported the idea of the dog merely thinking it was injured. Because her liniment usually took at least three days to heal a strained muscle.

  A sharp whistle pierced the air. "Varney! Come back here. Don't you dare chase those rabbits again."

  The dog simply ignored Jake. Instead, the canine continued to rub against her skirts. "Varney, have you been getting into trouble again?"

  Part of the bandaging looked a ragged mess. Obviously Varney had been busy chewing it off. "Mr. Stark?"

  Jake stepped out of the tent, adjusting his suspenders as he straightened and gave her a big grin. "Well, if it isn't Miss Sweeten. What are you doing out so early?"

  "What happened to your eye?" she countered, appalled. "Did Uncle Geary hit you?"

  "Naw, I just ran into a tree branch last night."

  "Somehow, I don't believe you." That he didn't want her to know what really happened irked her. "Don't tell me Worley did that to your eye."

  "I don't think he wanted to. He seemed reluctant. But I suppose he had to obey if he wanted to keep his job."

  "Yes, everyone knows that Worley is just a big teddy bear. He wouldn't hurt anybody unless ... well, like you said," she mumbled, once again appalled over her uncle's brutishness. Had he recently developed this short temper? Or had he just been hiding it from her all this time?

  "Let's just say I kept my word. I didn't cause the ruckus last night. But I couldn't help it if others in the party decided to cause one."

  "I don't know what's come over my uncle." Even as she muttered that, she retrieved a hankie out of her reticule and went to the bank of the stream to wet it. The water was cold and would do wonders for Jake's puffy eye.

  "What are you doing out and about so early in the morning?" Jake asked again as she returned with the cold compress.

  "I always start my mornings with a nice long walk in the forest." She walked over to the camp. Stones outlined the fire pit. A tin kettle nestled between rocks under a flame. A string of fish dangled from a string on a nearby branch from a sycamore tree, obviously freshly caught since she could see gills moving on one and a tail flapping on another. She turned to look at him and realized his hair was wet, as if he'd just bathed in the creek.

  If she'd been just a few minutes earlier, she might have caught him bathing. In the nude. With that scandalous thought, her eyes widened, her cheeks heated, and she discovered herself asking, "What are you doing, camping? I thought you were staying at the boardinghouse." Not waiting for him to answer, she quickly handed over the handkerchief. "Here, put this on your eye."

  "Checking up on me, Miss Sweeten?" he asked as he accepted the compress. Those silvery blue eyes seemed to pierce through to her very soul. He lifted his brows and gave her a flirtatious wink, and then winced.

  She felt that gaze like a caress against the sensitive skin of her nape. What would it be like if he caressed her neck? How would his fingers feel if he ran them down her spine? Her cheeks heated at the thought, and at the notion she was keeping track of him and where he resided. "No. I just know that most visitors stay at the boardinghouse if their visit is to be longer than a few nights."

  "Aw, I was just teasing you," he said. As he draped the cold wet cloth over his eye, she realized how defensive she'd sounded, w
hich mortified her all the more. "Have a seat." He patted on the same large stump on which he sat.

  "Thank you, but just for a bit." She sat next to him, making sure there was space in between them. After a while, he took away the cold compress and handed it back to her. "Thank you kindly, Maxine."

  Then he leaned down to rummage around in his pack before he withdrew two tin cups.

  "However," he whispered, bracketing his free hand around his mouth in a conspiratorial manner, "I must confess that I was hoping it was true."

  The way his eyes twinkled in a teasing manner made her breath quicken. "What was true?"

  "That you were checking up on me. That would mean I have a chance."

  "A chance?" She was having a terrible time following his train of conversation. What was wrong with her? She wasn't usually so dense! It was because she wasn't used to a man teasing her in such a manner. Her lack of concentration was all his fault. Of course.

  He leaned in closer, close enough that she caught the clean scent of lye mixed with something citrus-smelling—oranges. And, of course, that scent that was all his own, the one that reminded her of nutmeg. "That you might like me a little."

  Oh no. She had to nip this idea of his right in the bud. "Mr. Stark—"

  "Jake," he said as he poured a dark-looking liquid into both cups. "Please, call me Jake." He held out one of the cups. "Coffee?"

  She accepted the mug without thinking to refuse. "Mr. Stark, I don't think it's wise for you to have an interest in me in a romantic manner."

  "Why isn't it wise?" he murmured, staring at her. "To acknowledge we have an attraction between us? I say we'd be foolish to ignore it. Because in all my traveling I have never felt a pull toward a woman like I feel toward you."

  Although around his eye was a black bruise, reminding her of a raccoon, the swelling had gone down, and he was still the most ruggedly handsome man she'd ever seen. "Well, nevertheless, it isn't wise pursue this attraction. For one, you aren't from Blessings."