Tu’s palm pounced on the bell stationed at the sideboard. Wyatt had come to realize this meant another order was ready. This also meant more dishes to be washed. Wyatt had hoped that the place wouldn’t be too crowded on a Monday, and that he’d have some time to dry his hands off and enjoy the sunset framed through the back door’s opening, seeing as he’d been too busy around lunch hour to do anything but wash silverware. But he hadn’t had any luck so far to savor the evening, and that sun was all but a blur behind the San Juans.
Leo came into the kitchen to get the steaming plates of what Wyatt thought looked like noodles with a lot of green things and chicken pieces spread across the top. Tu was a fiend with that cleaver, and Wyatt swore he’d never do anything to aggravate the young man.
“Take a break, Wyatt,” Leo said around the cigarette clamped in his lips. The spent smoke curled into Wyatt’s lungs. It didn’t help that Tu indulged in Nestors, also. Wyatt was having a hard time talking himself out of starting up again with all the temptation surrounding him. Mostly, he just breathed in, taking what he could from the air and telling himself that this was as satisfying. “Take a cola if you want,” Leo added.
Wyatt was glad to pull the string from the apron around his middle, grab a Coca-Cola from the icebox, pop the cap, and step into the back alley for some fresh air. He sucked in the scent of vegetables, the odors of leaves, stalks, and stems of plants he couldn’t name, and the leftover warm smells that the sun had left in the wood and brick that surrounded him. He took a cold drink of cola and thought that this really wasn’t a bad place to be at this moment.
Leo was an okay man to work for. He gave Wyatt time to get out of the kitchen for a while and take a breather from the thick steam, hot water, splatter of oils, and all those odd smells. The heat had diminished his appetite, and he hadn’t eaten his supper yet. When the dining room emptied, he’d take a plate and sit in the corner.
The crunch of boot heels came from the tall shadows between the buildings, and Wyatt tensed. He didn’t wear his gun on the job, but he kept the .44 within close reach, wrapped in his duster on top of a cabinet in the kitchen.
When U.S. Marshal Bean Scudder ambled into Wyatt’s view, Wyatt held back a curse. “Mr. Holloway,” Bean said, then again, “Mr. Holloway.”
Wyatt knew he was in for some kind of reprimand, though for what he couldn’t guess. As far as he knew, he hadn’t broken any laws by standing in the alleyway drinking a Coca-Cola.
“Scudder.”
Bean drew in with about as much tact as a buffalo bull. “That’s Marshal Scudder to you, boy.”
Wyatt took a slow drink of his cola, the taste going flat in his mouth. He didn’t want Bean to know he rubbed him the wrong way, so he put on his best indolent expression and gazed over Scudder’s head—which wasn’t hard—to steal the last vestige of the striking western sunset. It was all but gone. The only light in the confined space came from the four kerosene lamps that were suspended from the kitchen’s ceiling.
The stream of soft yellow lit on Scudder’s badge like a moth drawn to a flame. “You did right by taking this job, boy.”
“I needed a job,” Wyatt concluded.
“You sure did. Because the choice was washing dishes or getting out of my town. I didn’t force you to do either.” The marshal belched. At least he had the couth to keep the noise beneath his breath. Hitching the straps of his suspenders higher on his shoulders, Scudder moved closer to Wyatt.
Wyatt could smell the odor of beer coming from the marshal’s whopper mustache and skin. The man was half-drunk. “I was on a perimeter check of Eternity today,” Scudder began with an authoritative ring to his tone, “and came upon what I’d bet my mother-in-law is your encampment. This being the case, you’ve violated city ordinance 4.023, which states, and I quote: ‘Said parties affixing themselves and their property on parcels of city owned land, or the legally filed parcels recorded in the city clerk’s office, is in effect, nesting on domains unlawfully theirs and will be considered as squatters and subject to incarceration by the city marshal if said situation isn’t immediately rectified,’ end quote.”
This time, Wyatt did swear.
“No, boy, I don’t believe the Good Lord will be damned in this instance. I’d consider one night camping. Two is squatting. And I know you’ve been up there for two. I can legitimately lock you up if you don’t disband and relocate.”
Resting the bottom of the bottle against his knee, Wyatt’s opinion of the marshal went as low as it could.
“Eternity’s got a wide city limit, boy. Just about any place you pick within a couple miles, I’m going to sniff out.”
Wyatt couldn’t afford to have Scudder looking for him. At least at the encampment Bean had already found, Wyatt had taken care to cover his tracks. He wasn’t so stupid as to think that his camp couldn’t be discovered. He really was in a clearing that wasn’t hard to miss. So he’d thought ahead, kept his mining equipment hidden in a cache covered by brush, and rearranged the loose rocks this morning when he’d finished digging. Rather than leave a hole, Wyatt spread the sandstone out using his shovel to make the surface look a lot flatter than it was. This took some extra time, but seeing as Scudder had stumbled upon his diggings, it had been worth the effort. But that still didn’t solve his current problem.
Where to go?
He didn’t want to waste time riding several miles a day between his camp, the Happy City, and his excavation site. But he didn’t have much money. Not enough to pay for a hotel for an extended stay, if that’s what things turned into. There was something he had to do, and soon: ask about a discovery of money from that mountainside. Because if someone had dug up his satchels, he was as good as dead broke with not a single promise to his name. If that was the case, he’d have no reason to stick around Eternity and be squashed like a bug beneath Bean’s thumbnail. But a question such as the one he needed to ask had to be offered in an offhanded manner, or else he’d cause suspicion to himself. Folks would want to know why he wanted to know.
“You ain’t saying much,” Scudder remarked.
“I’m thinking.”
“You don’t strike me as a thinking man, Holloway.”
“That so?”
“No, so it’s best I do your thinking for you. Get a room at the Starlight Hotel. It’s clean and cheap. The widow Almorene East runs the place.”
Wyatt wasn’t all that keen on taking the marshal’s tip but had seen the Starlight for himself, and the simple place looked to be about all he could afford. “How much time will you give me to pack up?”
“What time do you get off work?”
“Nine.”
“You’ve got until ten.”
“An hour in the dark to pack,” Wyatt said with more than a thread of sarcasm.
“I could have said nine-thirty.”
Wyatt held back a snort of ridicule. No good could come of embroiling the lawman into an argument. He didn’t want to chance being thrown in jail; not after all he’d been through. “I’ll be out of there by ten.”
“Wise decision.” Scudder made a move to mosey on, then paused and faced Wyatt, who was thinking the dishes were looking a lot better than Bean’s face. “Just why did you pick that spot to camp? It’s nearly into the timberline and not at all a convenient walk to town.”
Wyatt had already thought of a pat answer, should he have to give one. “The view of the town was best from there. I’m a sunrise man, Scudder, and surely appreciate the colors of an eastern sky at dawn.” Then an opening came, and Wyatt took it. “I may file a placer claim on that land if I can save enough money.” That part was a lie, but it gave some legitimacy to his being there.
“Well, you’ll have to be disappointed, boy. The land you’re trespassing on is already deeded to Hartzell Kirkland, owner of the Eternity Security Bank.”
A banker. Bitterness stirred inside him. It had to be a banker. And a banker with name connections to Leah Kirkland.
Suddenly all conversation lef
t Wyatt, and he had nothing further he wanted to say to Scudder. He didn’t like being made to look like an idiot with foolish dreams—not that he really was thinking about filing a claim. It was just that Bean thought him daft to do so, and that had Wyatt angered.
Without another word, he pushed off from the wall and went back into the hothouse kitchen. He set his Coca-Cola bottle on the counter and dunked his hands into the water that had grown a welcoming tepid temperature. His palms hit the glazed earthenware bottom of the sink, and he leaned his weight forward in thought.
Leah Kirkland’s name had been drifting in and out of his mind during the evening. The blunt throb of his head served as a reminder that her hands had cradled his face. Her fingers in his hair were almost unbearable in their tenderness. He hadn’t known such a kindness in so long, his eyes had surely showed the tortured dullness of his disbelief. He’d viewed himself as a pathetic man, a man so starved for love that he’d fed on, and made more out of, her exploring touch. When he’d felt her uneven breath on his cheek, when the soft curves of her breasts had grazed his chest, he’d wanted to bring his hands down the length of her back and fit her head perfectly in the hollow between his shoulder and neck, and hold her. To marvel in the small span of her waist, and feel her hips flattened against his. To kiss a supple mouth . . . and to rediscover the tickling sigh of pleasure on his lips.
It had been hard to remain coherent when she was so close to him. His thoughts had swum through a haze of feelings and desires aching for renewal. Those unforgettable minutes he’d spent in her kitchen had been the best he could recollect from a memory tarnished by years when nothing had been soft.
After he’d left Leah’s home, he been able to think with fearful clarity. He could no longer ignore the mocking voice inside his head. Colorado was no place for him. He bore too many scars, both on his flesh and in his heart, from the little towns that dotted its perimeter. He’d been a different man then. Wyatt Holloway didn’t belong in a place like Eternity. The wide-open ranges of Wyoming or Montana suited him better. That’s where he was headed.
Wyatt tucked his thoughts away and tackled the fresh stack of dishes Leo brought in. Sometime later, when Wyatt was elbow-deep in dirty dishwater, he heard Leah’s voice coming from the dining room. Glancing through an airy part in the reed curtains, he saw her sitting at the same table she’d been on Saturday night. The same table that had a direct view of him at the counter. Their eyes met, then Wyatt quickly averted his gaze. His blood pounded at his temples with a deflated thrum. Having her see him in his present low station in the workplace humiliated him. He didn’t want her to watch him at the sink cleaning off the dishes that others had eaten on. Watching him wash hers, too, when she was finished and lingered over tea.
He kept his attention on the food he scraped off a plate into a loam bucket, but was unable to shut out Leah’s voice.
“Good evening, Mr. Wang,” she said.
“Mrs. Kirkland. A pleasure, as always,” Leo replied. “How are you?”
“Very well.”
“And the children?”
“They’re dining at the Kirklands’ this evening.”
“I’ll pack some of Tu’s cookies for you to take home to them.”
“They’re spending the night at Geneva’s, but I’ll make sure they get them tomorrow.”
Leo took her order and returned to the kitchen to repeat it to Tu. Wyatt wanted to rip his apron off and tell Leo he was through, but he couldn’t. Instead, he made himself blind and deaf to his surroundings, something that he had learned to do over the years. He was glad to leave the kitchen for a while to empty the slop, but the next half hour passed slower than a funeral.
Leah leisurely ate her supper, alternately taking a bite of food and immersing herself in the magazine she was reading. At closing, Leo came into the kitchen with the last of the dishes. Everything but Leah’s teacup and saucer.
“I’ll be in my office totaling up the cash receipts,” Leo said, holding onto a box and a device with a frame of parallel wires and beads. “When Mrs. Kirkland is finished with her tea and cookie, could you clear her table?”
Wyatt nodded. Leo was the boss, and Leo had to give him orders. Wyatt could take that. He just didn’t want to be ordered to pick up after Leah. If he’d known how to ask Tu to do it, he would have.
After drying and putting away the clean dishes on the racks of the sideboard, Wyatt went to work on the heavy pans and gadgets Tu used for his cooking. With a plate in hand, Tu offered it to Wyatt with an explanation sounding like “Chewing gee-want.”
Wyatt looked down at the four plump and crispy folded pancakes. “Thanks, Tu.”
Tu merely smiled, then swept the floor and put his work space to bed. On a few glances to the empty dining room, Wyatt saw that Leah was making no effort to leave. It even seemed as if she was lingering, though the Closed sign had been posted on the door for a while. Wyatt drew up a chair in the corner and ate the vegetable-stuffed pancakes with his fingers, hoping that by the time he was done Leah would be gone.
She wasn’t. So he took care of the pots and iron bowls, washing and storing them. When there was nothing left to do, Wyatt gave himself a few seconds to ease the tension in his muscles. Then he took off his apron and headed for Leah’s table to clear it.
His wounded pride kept him silent.
She looked up from her magazine and gave him a soft smile. “How are you feeling, Mr. Holloway?” The twist of her burnished hair was lopsided at the top of her head, as if she’d been working and hadn’t noticed her hairstyle was askew. He thought the casual disarray was seductive.
“I’m okay.”
“I wish you would have let me do more for you. I feel somewhat responsible.”
“I’m okay,” he repeated in a voice that masked his disquiet.
Her fingers ruffled the magazine’s edge, a thought apparently in the back of her mind that refused to be still, by the way she chewed on her lower lip.
Wyatt didn’t wait for her to say her piece. He picked up her cup.
“Oh.” She slid the saucer toward him. “Thank you. That’s kind.”
“It’s my job.”
“Yes . . .” Leah stopped fiddling with the magazine.
“I didn’t think I’d see you tonight.”
“I’m a regular customer.”
Wyatt had no response. If he’d thought he could send Leah Kirkland from his mind, he now had to think twice. Because it didn’t seem likely he’d be able to if she ate in the restaurant on a customary basis.
“I wanted to apologize for my mother-in-law,” Leah said. “Geneva can be insufferable.”
“She doesn’t bother me.” The two pieces of thin china rattled in Wyatt’s big hand.
“I’m glad, because I didn’t want you to think that you aren’t welcome in my home.” She absently brushed the cookie crumbs on the cloth toward the center of the table. “Being new to Eternity, you don’t know anyone and I wouldn’t want you to feel like a stranger.” Her eyes lifted to his with speculation. “You are going to be staying, for a little while?”
“Looks like it.”
She closed her photography magazine and gathered it against her breasts. The motion pulled his gaze downward, but only for a fraction. “If you’re in need of a good hotel, I can recommend one.”
“The Starlight.”
“Yes. You’ve already talked to someone.”
“You could say someone already talked to me.” Then Wyatt got to thinking about that mountainside and its being owned by Hartzell Kirkland. Leah might know something, if he brought up the subject in the right way. “I was camping up by that cross until Scudder told me I couldn’t. There’s a fine city view from there.”
“That’s my favorite spot. When the sunset hits the cross, it makes me think of church.”
The cross made Wyatt think about bowing down on his knees, also. But with a pike in his hand instead of a Bible. “I heard someone in your family owns that land.”
�
��Oh, did you?”
“Scudder told me.”
“My father-in-law filed a claim on that property nearly ten years ago.”
“That so. He have any plans for it?”
“None that he’s ever told me about. Originally he was going to build a house there, but the architect told him the wash out from the snow would be detrimental to a foundation. And then there’s been the landslides.”
“Yeah, I noticed that.” Wyatt spoke his next question in an offhanded manner. “He ever do any digging around up there?”
“Hartzell?” Leah’s laugh was soft and light. “Good heavens, no. Hartzell wouldn’t know what a shovel was. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a dear, dear man. But my father-in-law is no outdoorsman. Why, he doesn’t even hunt during hunting season with the rest of the men. He puts in long hours at the bank and wouldn’t dream of leaving it for recreation, much less dig around in the rocks.” Her smile remained as she stood up slowly, her body tall and trim. “Well . . . I’d better not keep you from your duties any further. If you do find that your head is troubling you, Doctor Hochstrasser’s office is located on Fourth Avenue and State Street.”
“I’ll remember that.”
The ruffles at her throat separated where a tiny pearl button had slipped free of its small hole. Available to his view beneath the flames of kerosene lamps, the hollow of her neck filled with soft shadows. Her skin was like peach-tinted cream, the mellow brown hair framing her face giving her a wild beauty. The pleasure he felt in looking at her was pure and explosive.
She gazed at him as if she were photographing him with her eyes. “Arrivederci, Mr. Holloway.”
Blinking with bafflement, he asked, “Arriva-what?”
Firelight reflected the smile in her eyes. “That’s Italian for ‘I’ll be seeing you.’ ” Then she said the word again with vigor and a dramatic lift of her hand, her fingers lithe as she went toward the door. “Arrivederci, il signor Holloway.” There was an exotic and romantic flourish to the words in the way she spoke them, and after she’d left, the ambiance of the room seemed to dull.
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