Betina Krahn

  “The very same,” Bear said, knowing he had to make some explanation. “I insisted Diamond come and see the Montana Central and Mountain being constructed. That way she’ll know she’s getting her money’s worth.” Those words, combined with her presence, spoke volumes about the state of their marriage and her chilly air.

  “Ye’ll get good value for yer dollar here, miss, er—ma’am.” He looked to Bear. “I got ye a room at th’ hotel. A good thing, I reckon.”

  “Robbie and I won’t be needing a hotel, Mr. Finnegan,” she declared.

  “Halt, ma’am.” He grinned his Irish best and reached for the satchel. “Let me take that for ye.” To Bear’s surprise, she relinquished it to him.

  “I cannot speak for Mr. McQuaid, but Robbie and I will be staying in our rail car.” She cast a glance over her shoulder at their private rail coach and Halt’s eyes widened as he took it in. “What we could use is a place to bathe.”

  “I believe we can accommodate ye, ma’am,” Halt responded.

  As they neared the station house, Bear slowed suddenly.

  Leaning back against the wall, with their feet propped beneath them on the siding were three tough-looking men wearing dusty hats, worn boots, and revolvers slung around their hips. One was smoking a cigarette, one appeared to be napping while standing up, and the third was whittling a small piece of wood. When the smoker spotted Bear, his sun-creased eyes contracted to slits. He nudged the others and nodded toward Bear and Halt.

  “Some new boys in town,” Bear observed quietly, feeling every muscle in his body—even his scalp—go tense.

  “More than just them.” Halt too was moving with deliberate casualness.

  “They’ve got Beecher written all over them,” Bear mused and Halt nodded in confirmation.

  “What or who is Beecher?” Diamond asked, looking to Bear, then to Halt.

  “Nobody,” Bear said, stopping when they were directly opposite the glaring threesome. He produced the gun he’d been keeping out of Diamond’s sight and heard her take a sharp breath. Releasing her arm and tucking back the sides of his coat, he proceeded to strap the Colt revolver on his hip and tie it down. His movements were brisk and practiced and, as intended, they sent an unmistakable message to the three hired gunmen.

  He pulled Diamond’s hand back through the crook of his elbow and led her and Robbie down onto the main street. All the way, they could still feel the men’s gazes boring into their backs.

  “You see that, Diamond? Bear’s wearing a six-gun!” Robbie said, staring eagerly over his shoulder at the surly threesome, who peeled themselves from the wall and struck off down the main street, in the opposite direction. “An’ them other men—they had guns, too!”

  “Don’t stare, Robbie,” Diamond said through her teeth, pulling him back around. “It’s not polite.”

  Great falls was a typical end-of-the-line railroad stop. At its center were wood-framed buildings that fronted along a broad, dusty street. The permanent buildings were mostly commercial properties: sundry stores and shops, a bank, a boarding house or two, a saloon, a land and assay office, and a rambling, hastily constructed hotel.

  Around that stable core had collected a shifting, changeable society of tents. Like their insubstantial shelters, the enterprises housed in these tent cities tended to be short-lived and not always wholesome: saloons and dance halls, cheap eateries, bathhouses, sleeping tents, gambling dens, and peddlers’ stalls.

  Halt led them through the more permanent part of town to a street of tent buildings that had been covered in the front with wood, to give them a more respectable appearance. There, he showed them the temporary offices of the Montana Central and Mountain Railroad … an impressive wooden front with a gold-lettered sign that, like the others, opened into a sizable canvas tent. Inside were a few tables, a desk, and a number of displayed maps marking the route of the railroad and the parcels of land that would be for sale along it.

  “Welcome to th’ office of the Montana Central and Mountain Railroad,” Halt said proudly. “As soon as th’ track is laid an’ we’ve built up a store of revenue, we’ll decide on a place and build a real building.”

  Diamond felt Bear’s gaze on her and decided to withhold judgment for a while. She had seen new businesses begin in far worse circumstances and become quite successful. She didn’t want to discount the Montana Central and Mountain unfairly because of the underhanded way its owner had raised its capital.

  “Any questions, Miss—Mrs. McQuaid?” Halt asked.

  “Only one, Mr. Finnegan.” When he raised a finger and produced his best Irish smile, she softened. “Halt. Where can I find that bath?”

  Mrs. Goodbody’s Bathing Emporium was a few doors down, identified by a hastily painted sign that promised hot water and towels for a modest fee and declared soap to be available at an additional cost.

  Diamond handed the protesting Robbie over to Bear, with the suggestion that someone take a scrub brush to him, and then she entered the door marked Women. For a dollar she was shown to a tall wooden stall in the open air, provided with a large copper tub, a crude stool, and a series of pegs for her clothes. The attendant handed her a sliver of coarse soap and a stiff piece of toweling, then returned shortly with a boy carrying buckets of water.

  Closing her eyes so that she wouldn’t see the scum on the tub or what might be floating in the water, she settled into the warmth with a groan. If only she could keep her eyes closed all the time she was here … she wouldn’t have to see things like Bear strapping on a gun in front of three men who looked like they chewed nine-penny nails for breakfast.

  What the devil was he trying to do? Get himself shot? Her stomach was only now coming out of a knot. He had an appalling penchant for responding to any sort of threat with physical force. Back in Baltimore it had been disconcerting and somewhat embarrassing; out here it could be downright deadly.

  Those men at the station had glared openly at him, unconcerned—perhaps even hoping—that their behavior might provoke a response. Bear had certainly obliged them with one: halting right in front of them to strap on his revolver. Her heart had stopped as she watched his big supple fingers fastening holster ties around his thigh, just above his knee. She had read enough books to know that out West a man didn’t usually tie down his side arm unless he assumed he’d have to draw it fast.

  This was the West, she realized with a jolt. Her West. It unnerved her that it was proving to be every bit as woolly and untamed as it was in her books. Here society and the law were what people of conscience made them. It was up to strong, decent, forward-thinking men to bring civilized behavior to these parts, not to strap on a gun and swagger around pretending to be Cactus Jack or Black Bart. If this was Bear McQuaid’s idea of progress, it was little wonder he had trouble getting loans for his precious railroad. At any given moment, he was just half a step away from out-and-out barbarism.

  As she soaked and steeped, she remembered the way he had muscled poor Ellsworth at the Vassars’ party, the way he had carried her when she fainted, and the way he had slung her across his shoulder and carried her off with him to Montana, and she felt a warmth rising in her that had nothing to do with the heat of the water. She groaned and abruptly sat up to scrub. What did it say about her, that she seemed to find his powerful, physical, volatile nature so fascinating?

  It was the better part of an hour later, after toweling her hair and pinning it up, that she pulled on her new knickers and camisole, then donned new stockings, a petticoat, and her sturdy new boots. She found herself stroking the fine cotton of her new blouse and fingering the demure lace at the collar. It was perfect. Just the sort of thing she would have chosen for herself … if, of course, she had been allowed to go shopping and choose for herself.

  Quickly, she donned the rest of her clothes and packed her others in her satchel. With her resistance once more in place, she threaded her way out of the maze of bathing stalls to the front entrance of Mrs. Goodbody’s.

  There, lean
ing against the wall, just outside the doorway to the men’s side, stood Bear. Tall, muscular, and heart-stoppingly Western … he was wearing those glove-fitting blue trousers of his, Western boots, a simple cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a leather vest that appeared aged to butter softness, and of course, his hat … which was pulled low over his eyes. She stopped inside the doorway, staring, feeling as if she were looking at a stranger … a handsome, dangerous foreigner … denizen of a hazardous but enthralling land. Something hot and restless and deliciously defiant stirred in her as she looked at him and remembered—

  A woman’s voice cut through the air like a rusty knife.

  “Beaaarr McQuaaaaid! You han’some devil, you—come on an’ give your fav’rite filly a big ol’ kiss!”

  Diamond watched him jerk his head up to locate the source of that grating voice and, an instant later, saw him flattened against the wall by a typhoon of femininity. A blur of frizzed red hair and even redder silk taffeta engulfed him and kissed him as if she were claiming territory for the King of Spain.

  “Jesus, Mary, an’ Joseph—I’ve missed you!” It was difficult to tell whether Bear had pushed her away or she had simply come up for air.

  “How are you, Silky?” Bear said with a husky laugh.

  “Right as rain, now that you’re back, you handsome dog.”

  Something—a pang of conscience or perhaps the heat of her stare—caused him to glance toward the women’s door, where he spotted her. Silky followed his gaze to her, then pulled back to allow him to stand upright.

  “Don’t let me interrupt,” Diamond said, her face on fire as she started past the pair. “I just need to collect Robbie and I’ll be on my way.”

  “Diamond.” Bear lurched around Silky to grab her arm, but once he had it he seemed unsure just what to say to her. “This is … an old friend of mine. Silky Sutherland.” He turned to the flamboyant creature in the gaudy red dress. “Silky, this is my wife, Diamond Wingate … McQuaid.”

  “Wife? Finnegan said you got hitched. Didn’t believe a word of it.” Silky gave a wicked laugh. “Till I heard she was rich.”

  Silky swayed toward Diamond with her hands on her hips. Diamond stood her ground as she was circled and examined with insulting thoroughness. She was a heartbeat away from yanking out handfuls of frizzy red hair, when Silky stopped directly in front of her and looked her right in the eye.

  “She’s pretty as a picture,” she continued, speaking to Bear. “No mystery here, McQuaid. Rich and beautiful—hell, I’d have married her, if I could!”

  Diamond tucked her chin, staring in shock at the most brazen female she had ever met. From the corner of her eye she could see Bear squirming and looking pained. When she focused on Silky, the creature smiled at her … a beguiling expression that was honest and open and utterly fearless.

  “You treatin’ my friend McQuaid right, Diamond Lady?”

  It was a demand for a decision: would they be friends or foes? Diamond’s first thought was that she had never seen that much kohl on a women’s eyes before and her second was that if Evelyn Vassar were here, she would most certainly be sinking into a ladylike swoon and expecting Diamond to do the same. But Evelyn wasn’t here, and Silky’s forthright manner had a defiant sense of freedom about it that Diamond was shocked to find she rather admired.

  “I intend to wait until he falls asleep tonight,” Diamond said calmly, “before I kill him.”

  Silky’s laughter was cut short by a male voice from behind Bear.

  “Now, there’s a rousing endorsement of married life, if I ever heard one.”

  A tall, rail-slender man in a dark, Western-style suit was standing on the wooden walk behind Bear … holding a cheroot in one hand and wearing a smile that had nothing to do with pleasure. The recognition on Bear’s face was not at all reassuring.

  “Beecher,” he said as if the name fouled his mouth.

  “McQuaid.” The man gave an exaggerated nod of acknowledgment, then turned his gaze full force on Diamond. “I believe congratulations are in order.”

  “I don’t want anything from you, Beecher—not even congratulations.”

  “Hardly a civilized response, McQuaid,” Beecher said with a wave of his smoking cigar, still staring too intently at Diamond. “But I suppose your lovely bride must learn the truth about you sooner or later. Lionel Beecher, ma’am.” He doffed his hat, then replaced it. “An old acquaintance of your husband’s. I pray you don’t measure all Montanans in his half-bushel.”

  Bear rolled his right shoulder back and drew his arm aside to call Beecher’s attention to his side arm. Beecher glanced down at Bear’s revolver and with taunting deliberateness flicked back the side of his coat, revealing that he was unarmed.

  “Oh, and just so you know,” Beecher continued with an unpleasant smile. “I’ve filed an exception with the land office in Washington. I’ve told them there is only one way a spur line will be built between here and Billings … that’s if Mr. Gould, Mr. Harriman, and the Northern Pacific build it. You had your chance, McQuaid. It’s been more than twelve months, and you haven’t laid a single mile of track. No doubt you’ll be hearing from them soon.”

  Diamond couldn’t swallow, could barely breathe. The air between the men crackled with animosity, lacking only the smallest spark to set it off.

  “Hey—lemeeggo!” Robbie’s voice preceded him out the bathhouse door. An instant later he came flying out into the middle of the standoff with his wet hair standing on end and his shirt only half on. “Crazy bast—” He spotted Diamond and bit off the rest, substituting a scowl of indignation. “They poured scaldin’ water all over me in there—tried to cook me proper!”

  The tension cracked and Diamond stepped through it to claim Bear’s arm.

  “You’ll have to finish this conversation another time. Good day, Mr. Beecher.” She collected Robbie in her free hand and gave Silky Sutherland a fierce nod. “We should have tea someday, Miss Sutherland. I’m certain there is a lot you can tell me about … Montana.”

  “Don’t ever do that again,” Bear said furiously as he trundled her up the steps of their private car.

  “Or what?” She turned around, halfway up the steps, to face him. “You’ll pull your gun on me, too?”

  “You don’t know who or what you’re dealing with.” He grabbed both railings and vaulted up onto the first step, expecting her to back up onto the platform. But she held her ground and they came suddenly chest to chest and eye to eye.

  “Then you tell me what all that was about,” she challenged caught unexpectedly in the molten copper of his gaze. “Who is this Beecher fellow and why in heaven’s name did you threaten to pull a gun on him?”

  “It’s none of your concern,” He tried to turn her but she refused to move and his hands on her shoulders unleashed the heat that had simmered between them for the last ten days. He stared at her lips; she stared at his. She felt his chest moving as he breathed; he felt her breasts surge against his chest.

  “Wouldn’t you rather know about Silky?” His voice thickened.

  “No.” Her mouth was going dry.

  “Liar. Silky is a damn fine woman. And an even better friend.”

  “I don’t want to hear about her, I want to hear about Beecher.”

  His jaw clenched and the heat in his eyes cooled. “He’s Jay Gould’s handpicked henchman. A swindler. A cheat. A coward and a bully.”

  “Who doesn’t wear a gun,” she charged.

  “Who hires other scum to do his beating and shooting for him.”

  “What did he mean … he’s filed an exception with the land office in Washington? What does that mean to the Montana Central and Mountain?”

  “Nothing. We put up the money for the right-of-way and as long as we lay the track, the grants are ours. When we sell the land, we’ll recoup most of the loan money. Don’t worry, you’ll get your blessed money back … every damned penny of it.”

  The words rumbled through her. Your money. The stubborn h
eat in his eyes and the exasperation that caused his hands to tremble suggested that he was speaking impulsively … and forthrightly. For the moment at least, he seemed to mean what he said. You’ll get your blesset money back. He spoke as if he still considered her asses hers, instead of his. Her heart skipped a beat and then began to thud wildly. Was it possible that he had just wanted a loan in the first place? That he really had intended to ask her for the money, to make her a business proposition?

  Just then a familiar figure came racing down the siding toward them. It was Halt, trailed closely by Robbie.

  “I was lookin’ for ye. Johnson’s quit?” Halt panted as he grabbed onto the handrail of the steps.

  “Quit?” Bear stepped down with one foot onto the gravel by the tracks. “But he can’t just—What the hell happened?”

  “Don’t know. He left a paper at th’ office sayin’ he quit—I just found it. Went straight to ‘is room at the boardin’ house … he’s cleared out. Paid up his room an’ cleared out, survey gear an’ all.”

  “Damnation.” Bear pounded the handrail with a fist.

  “Who is Johnson?” she asked Halt.

  “Our engineer,” Bear responded for him. “He surveyed and staked out our first twenty miles, and until yesterday, he headed up the crew preparing the rail bed.” He looked at Halt with his chest heaving. “How much did they get done?”

  “Don’t know, lad,” the Irishman said. “Haven’t been out there in two or three days.” He was already on his way before Bear had a chance to speak. “I’ll get th’ horses.”

  When Diamond called after him that she would need one, too, he nodded and waved to acknowledge that he’d heard and would oblige.

  “You’re not going,” Bear declared flatly as he pushed by her up the steps and ducked inside the car. “You’re staying right here.”

  “No, I am not.” She hurried in after him and dropped her satchel, and folded her arms. “This is what I stayed to see … what I suffered ten long days cooped up in a train car to witness. And I’m not going to miss a minute of it.”