Fair Is the Rose (22 page)

To her, they were just beginning.

She whispered, "I won't be but a minute."

The old fort's mess hall was a crude log building with a dirt floor. It hadn't been abandoned long because the mud still held between the logs and the cast-iron stove was still intact.

Christal knew true terror as she looked around. The room was full of men: passengers and cavalry.
And
marshals.
Their silver stars seemed to be on every chest, blinding her with their brightness whenever they caught the lantern flame.

Her body tensed for flight, her mind crying for escape, she smiled and stilled the hand that lay trembling on Cain's arm. It was imperative that she avoid suspicion until she could quietly depart with the other passengers. Still, as if by instinct, her palm curled over the rose-shaped scar, and she vowed they'd have to break her hand to reveal it in this crowd.

Without ceremony, Mr. Glassie parted from a sea of blue-coated cavalrymen. He gave her a bear hug and she found tears in her eyes once more. Henry Glassie was a kindhearted soul, and she wished they could be friends. She pulled back from him and saw he was pale, even a little thinner—though with his girth that was hard to tell—but no worse for wear. His verdigris suit had been brushed and he looked almost as dapper as the day the Overland coach had first set out for Noble.

"Thank God you're all right, Mrs. Smith. I can't begin to tell you how Mr. Adlemeyer and I worried about you," he exclaimed, holding her as if she were his long-lost daughter.

Christal smiled up at him, letting her gaze move from Mr. Glassie to the "preacher." She had never known the preacher's name. He smiled back but wearily, as if he still were desperate for a drink.

Mr. Glassie nodded toward Macaulay, who had walked over to greet some cavalrymen. "Can you believe that ruffian was actually one of the marshals?"

Christal glanced at Cain. He laughed among the men as if one of them had told an especially funny joke. His teeth were brilliantly white, his grin wolfish. There was actually some warmth in those cold eyes. He looked relaxed, even happy. Until his gaze met hers.

The smile disappeared like a miser's gold. She could see she troubled him.
As he had troubled her back in Falling Water.

"He's a man full of surprises," she commented, glad that Mr. Glassie's attention was on seating her and not on their exchange. She didn't want him to see how Macaulay affected her. To divert herself, she nodded a greeting to the Overland coach driver and the shotgun,
who
stood in a corner. Both appeared immensely relieved to be where they were. "Where are Pete and his father?" she asked, looking around.

"Pete's watching maneuvers. Old Elias, I understand, is arguing with Rollins about when his money will be returned." Mr. Glassie chuckled.
"Seems he's sore about them keeping it a moment longer than they have to."

Christal could have laughed, picturing the grizzled old man up against Rollins, but she was too absorbed in wondering when she might expect her own money to be returned. She longed to feel the weight of her precious seven gold pieces in her palm once more.

A hand on her shoulder made her look up and she found Cain standing there, drink in hand.

"Here. This will help you sleep tonight." He gave her the tin cup.

"Thank you . . ." She paused, wondering what name to call him. The name Cain didn't seem to fit him or their relationship any longer.

"Macaulay," he answered, as if reading her mind.

"Macaulay," she whispered, and accepted her drink. Then she turned away, too frightened to look at him, too frightened to let him see her eyes full of worry, her heart on her sleeve. He had gotten close to her when she thought him an outlaw. It was
time,
indeed it was imperative, that she back away.

Taking one small sip from the cup, she found it was hot coffee well laced with whiskey. As she refused to meet Macaulay's gaze the tension between them mounted. This time Henry Glassie didn't miss a second of the interchange.

Macaulay soon returned to the men to help them carve the venison and Mr. Glassie pulled up his chair. He took her hand and said, "I'm glad we've got a chance to speak, Mrs. Smith."

"Please call me Christal." She tried to smile, though it was difficult considering the situation.

"I'm honored to be counted as one of your friends, Christal, but ..." Glassie's troubled gaze wandered once more to Macaulay. "I can't help but think how you looked when you came up to the saloon the other day." His kind voice lowered to a whisper. "Your clothes were torn. Cain handled you in front of us.
Shoved you.
Dragged you off."

"He didn't hurt me. He never hurt me," she whispered, wondering why her voice began to tremble.

"It was a terrible time. But I want you to understand whatever was done to you can be recompensed. If Mr, Cain took advantage of you during your captivity, I'll see to it that the right thing is done. I'll make him marry you—"

"No," she answered, cutting him off with more passion than she wanted to show.

"There, there, Mrs. Smith. I didn't mean to upset you."

She quavered a smile. "Please forgive me. I'm not upset. Mr. Cain did nothing he need regret. I'll be fine as soon as the coach comes. I find I must leave."

"You can't want to leave so soon!" He laughed. "Why, Terence Scott himself is coming up from the Union Pacific to give us a hefty sum to recompense us for our troubles. I understand he'll be here late tomorrow."

Christal couldn't hide the shock on her face. She never dreamed they'd get any kind of monetary apology from Overland. The money might actually be enough for her to expose Didier. It was difficult to imagine but her fortunes were actually looking up. "Do you have any idea about how much he's bringing?" she asked, knowing she was being indelicate but unable to help herself.

"No, no! But it's sure to be a fine sum.
Especially for you, Christal.
I understand they never thought a woman would be on that coach. They're very sorry for what they've put you through."

"I see."

He rambled, "Now, I myself must miss the presentation, but I've got Paterson Furniture to recompense me. And they'll give me a tidy sum. I'm a very valued employee, you see. They've already got me a coach so I may start out first thing in the morning and get to my accounts." He straightened the lapels of his coat. "I can't afford to dawdle here and lose my sales."

His words took a moment to sink in. Finally she sputtered, "You're leaving first thing in the morning? You're not waiting for the Overland coaches?"

"I can't miss another day at my accounts. I'm very behind."

She tapped her fingers on the splintery wooden board of the table. Her desire for the Overland money was palpable. But it would be prudent to see if she could leave in the morning. Should she do the intelligent thing and leave? Or should she throw caution to the wind, grab at the Overland money on the chance that it might be the thing to solve all her problems?

"A penny for your thoughts?"

She stared at Mr. Glassie. "I—I was just envying you your quick departure. Macaulay—er—Mr. Cain told me the Overland coaches would take two days."

"Are you in such a hurry, then?"

She bit her lower lip and thought about Cain. She could have a pleasant two days with him and he would never discover who she was. Or he could seduce her into his bed, seduce her into giving him her honor and the truth about her past, then throw her to the wolves she called U.S. Marshals. Her eyes clouded. "I—I
may
need to leave earlier."

"Well, if need be, I most certainly could take you in the morning. Paterson has telegrammed that I'll have a coach at dawn. But where do you want to go?"

She paused, unwilling to say she didn't care. That would raise too many questions. "Where is your first stop?"

"South Pass."

She smiled a beautiful, warm smile. South Pass was only a stone's throw from Noble, her original destination. "Perfect. If I decide to leave, I'll meet you at the coach at dawn."

"With no escort?"

"I'll be all right." She smiled again, dazzling him. "You won't mention this to anyone, will you?"

Mr. Glassie nodded, clearly enchanted.
"Why, of course not.
This is just between us."

The Mandan women began serving the meal, ending their conversation. Macaulay sat beside her, and she quickly commented on how difficult it was to find good quality furniture out west, which spun Mr. Glassie off on a twenty-minute commentary. Christal ate in
silence,
half listening to Mr. Glassie, acutely aware of Cain's every breath, every sip of whiskey, every shift of weight on the crude bench. She wondered if he was as aware of her, and whenever she would chance to look at him, their eyes would meet.
A silent clash of lovers.

After dinner, Judd, the Overland driver, took out a fiddle and played a soothing waltz. The coffee and whiskey went down easily, even though Christal wasn't used to drinking. She wanted to relax—an impossible task while she was still in the fort, surrounded by lawmen.

Macaulay leaned back in a chair and irreverently placed his booted feet on the bench on which she sat. She looked at him, wondering how to approach the subject of the Overland money. If their compensation wasn't going to be much, her decision to leave with Mr. Glassie would be easy. If it was a king's ransom, then she'd stay, despite the risk. But now she didn't know which it would be. She had until dawn to find out.

"When do you suppose we'll be getting our possessions back?" she asked, glancing around the room as if she wasn't really that interested in his response. "You have seven gold pieces of mine, you know."

"Well, don't worry. There's nothing to spend it on here."

"Yes, but—"

"Besides, you'll have more than your seven gold pieces when Terence Scott arrives. I hear he's paying y'all pretty for your troubles."

"How pretty?"
She frowned. Was there too much anxiety in her voice?

"Greedy, are we?"

She looked at him.