Only My Love (31 page)

Houston helped Michael down from the carriage and led her to one of the entrances where there was no activity. "We're only going to go a short way in," he told her. "Without a lantern it's impossible to see. Unless you want to see more? I can get one."

"No. No, that's all right. I don't think I'd like to go in very far." She allowed him to take her elbow and escort her up a small rocky incline until they reached the adit. After walking only five or so yards into the horizontal mine entrance darkness began to close around them.

"You can see there are other tunnels that take different routes up ahead. Generally there are two shifts of miners working each day."

"Is this area tapped out? Is that why no one's working here?"

"I don't know. Could be. I'm not as familiar with the working of the mines as Ethan. You could ask him."

"Perhaps I will." They had stopped walking. Michael realized she was close enough to one of the inner walks that she was able to feel the cool dampness of earth and rock through her clothes. She glanced toward the entrance and was assured by the rectangular patch of sunlight framed by the supporting wooden beams.

"You don't like this place, do you?" Houston asked.

She thought he was going to take a step back and give her room to move toward the adit. Instead he moved closer so that Michael found her back to the tunnel's wall. "No," she said. "I don't like it much." She thought he would move then. He didn't.

"Ethan says you were studying at a university when he met you."

The change of subject startled her. Michael forced herself to meet Houston's eyes directly. "That's right."

"What were you studying?"

"Literature. I was planning to be a writer."

"Poetry?"

She shook her head. "Novels."

"Have you started one?"

"Dozens. But I never finish. I keep a diary." She mentioned the diary because she knew he knew about it. It would add credibility to lies she had to tell.

"Is that why you were going to marry Drew Beaumont? Because he was a writer?"

Michael took a tentative step sideways, hoping to inch herself away from the wall. Houston countered by casually bracing his arms on either side of her shoulders. "I was going to marry Drew because I loved him."

"You haven't mourned him. Except for the first few days on the trail I haven't observed you really grieving for him."

"You don't know what's in my heart."

"Don't I?"

Michael broke eye contact then because she couldn't bear looking at him any longer. His stare was so penetrating that she felt violated. "Why are you saying these things to me?"

He didn't answer her directly. "I wonder sometimes just what you would do to secure your escape from Madison."

"Please, I want to go now." Michael crossed her arms in front of her. Even inside Houston's leather gloves her hands were cold.

"It would surprise me if you didn't," he said pleasantly. He looked around, his gaze resting briefly on the lighted entrance, then the dark tunnel branches, and finally on Michael's shadowed features. "This isn't the sort of place where one wants to spend much time. It's possible to get lost in these tunnels and die without ever reaching light again." He paused, watching his words seep in. "There, I've given you something to think about, haven't I?"

Michael remained mute and refused to look at him.

"Now, let's see what you do with it." He cupped her chin and turned her face toward him, then tilted it upward. "Give me your mouth."

Her lips parted on a dry sob. Behind her closed lids, Michael's eyes burned. Her throat ached with suppressed tears. Houston's mouth was firm, his touch probing. She felt his fingers on the fasteners of her coat and then his hands were inside, running down the length of her, cupping her breasts, molding her waist and hips, pressing against her thighs. He forced her back flush with the wall. His mouth slid to the cord of her neck when she turned her head to avoid his kisses.

Houston straightened. "Look at me." His breathing was harsh. "Dammit, look at me."

Michael raised her eyes slowly and let him see the full force of her anger and hatred.

"You won't say anything to Ethan."

It didn't matter if she did, she thought. Ethan warned her he wouldn't kill a man because of her. Houston didn't know that he wouldn't at least try. "I won't say anything."

"Very wise." His mouth lowered over hers again. "I meant it when I said I like Ethan. I wouldn't want to kill a friend over you." He kissed her full on the mouth. Hard. "I suppose I'd have to kill you."

Michael pushed at his chest and ducked under his arms when Houston rocked back on his heels. She made it a few yards toward the light when she was jerked back by a hand on her wrist and drawn up against him. She struggled briefly, realized the futility of it, and chose to save her strength. The ease with which Houston was able to subdue her humiliated Michael.

"That's better," he said softly. "I've never told you why I have no liking for reporters, have I?"

She was very still, listening, watchful. It was difficult to speak. "No, you've never said."

"When I was ten my father killed my mother, then himself. He held the gun but it was a reporter who pulled the trigger."

All the questions that occurred to Michael were left unasked. Houston spun her around and started toward the entrance. A few feet before they reached it Obie Long appeared. Michael forced herself not to touch her hair or hurriedly button her coat and give Obie cause to think anything had been happening. It was more of an effort not to reveal her relief at his interruption.

"What is it, Obie?" Houston asked pleasantly.

Michael realized Houston had heard Obie's approach before the younger man was visible. The immediate tension she'd felt in him when he had spun her toward the entrance had vanished. He had been preparing himself for another confrontation. Had he thought it could have been Ethan?

"Jake sent me out to get you. There's been a message over the wire for you. Suppose Jake thinks it's important."

Houston nodded. "And it probably is. I was showing Michael here a little bit of the mines. Why don't you finish the tour for me and I'll take your horse back into town?"

"Sure. I don't mind."

"Michael?"

"Umm..." She felt Houston's fingers tighten on her elbow. "That's fine. I'd enjoy Obie's company."

"Good," Houston said. "Then it's settled. Don't keep her long, Obie." Houston released Michael's arm and started to go.

"Wait!" Michael called after him. "Your gloves."

"You'll need them on the drive back."

"No. You take them. I insist." She pulled them off and thrust them at his chest, forcing him to catch them or let them drop to the ground.

"Thank you."

Michael watched him go, knowing his parting smile was intended for Obie's benefit, not for hers. She took Obie's arm. "Houston couldn't show me very much," she said. "He forgot to get a lantern. Perhaps we could find one and—"

"Sure," Obie interrupted eagerly. "I'll show you where I've been working since you've already seen part of what Ethan's doing."

Obie's tour lasted another hour. If Michael hadn't had to cope with the memory of her encounter with Houston, she would have found Obie's company enjoyable, even entertaining. He was knowledgeable about the mines, understood the equipment that was used to reach the deepest veins. Michael had observed that although he was shy around most of the women in the saloon, in this environment at least he was talkative and open. She wished she dared ask him questions that had nothing to do with the operation of the Madison mines.

She thanked him when they reached the front of the saloon. "No, don't bother seeing me inside. If it will make you feel better, you can just sit here and watch me go in. I know you have to take the buggy back to the livery." Without waiting for a protest or assistance, Michael leapt lightly from the carriage and went directly into the saloon. She spoke to Carmen and Susan in passing, promising them she'd help with the new dance number before dinner was served. She waved at Kitty who was still serving behind the bar and spoke casually to two customers. Passing Dee's office, Michael was careful not to look as if she were avoiding Detra or mounting the stairs too hurriedly.

Michael pushed open the door to her room with more force than she thought. It rebounded off the wall. She closed it more gingerly, aware of Ethan's eyes on her. He was standing at the bureau, the water basin on top of it, mixing up lather in a shaving cup. Naked to the waist, he had a rolled towel around his neck. He wiped a little lather from his fingers on the edge of the towel and watched Michael's movements in the mirror.

She took off her coat and hung it in the wardrobe.

Turning, she formed a steeple with her fingers and blew on them gently, warming them. After a moment she crossed the room, got down on her hands and knees and started searching under the bed, making long sweeping motions with her arm.

"Anything in particular you're looking for?" he asked.

She didn't answer. Her fingers came in contact with the cigarette she'd pushed under the bed earlier and grasped it lightly. Rising, she went to the window and shot Ethan a derisive glance as she opened it a crack. "It never was painted shut."

He continued stirring up a lather. "Imagine that."

Reaching under the frame with her fingers, Michael found the matches and striking paper she kept hidden there. She didn't care that Ethan was watching her. Raising defiant eyes to him, Michael put the tip of the cigarette between her lips, struck the match, and lighted it. She inhaled deeply, realizing only when she saw the cigarette flutter at the end of her fingers how much her hand was trembling. She pulled one of the ladder-back chairs closer to the window and sat down, blowing the smoke toward the crack.

Ethan began to lather his face and the underside of his jaw. "I'm surprised you know how to sit in that chair like a lady. I half-expected you to straddle it."

She ignored him, turning more toward the window and away from him, and drew deeply again on the cigarette. Tears welled in her eyes. She stared out the window, past the false fronts and sloping roofs across the street, to the jagged mountain crests that lifted the horizon and supported the sky. A tear fell from the center of one eye and slid smoothly down her cheek. She wiped it away impatiently. It was followed immediately by another.

"Are you crying, Michael?" Ethan put down his brush and the shaving mug. He took a step back from the bureau to see her profile better. "Michael? What's wrong?"

The dark green eyes she slowly raised to him were wet with tears. "I just realized how hopeless it is," she said, the slightest quaver in her soft voice. "I'm never going to leave Madison, am I?"

Chapter 9

Ethan sat down slowly on the edge of the bed. He was frowning. "Did Houston say something to you this afternoon?"

Michael shook her head. "No," she said, glancing out the window again. "Nothing like that."

He let the lie pass, certain that's what it was. "So what did happen?"

She shrugged. "We rode out to the mines. He showed me around until Obie came with a message for him from Jake. Then Houston left and Obie completed the tour."

Ethan was damn well sure Obie wasn't at the root of whatever was troubling Michael. He began wiping lather off his jaw. "Michael, I think it would be best if you would tell—"

Her laughter was a trifle bitter. "Trust you, you mean. But when I tried that before you made sure you set me straight. No, Ethan, I don't think so. I'm not going to tru—" She looked at him then and what she saw made her stop. Ethan had finished wiping lather from his cheeks and along his jaw. His neck was clear. But he'd left a thick mustache of lather above his upper lip. The sense of familiarity that she hadn't experienced in a while returned. She stared at him hard, reaching for the elusive memory and knowing she was closer to grasping it than ever before.

Ethan didn't know what had triggered her attempt at recollection, but knew the precise moment she remembered. Her lips parted a fraction as her jaw went slightly slack. The struggle that had played out in her expressive green eyes came to a halt. It was replaced for a moment by blankness, then denial, then a sudden start, an almost imperceptible widening of her pupils, as complete recognition filled them.