The Union (15 page)

"Where are we going?"

"I'm taking you to my room upstairs."

She still stared at his pants. He looked down to see his own obvious bulge. "Taking me to, or taking me in?"

"Maybe both." He forced his gaze away from her, making himself look for something to patch the window with.

"Don't worry about that," Keely said as she pulled her wrapper on. "I always sleep with the window open in the summer. No one's ever stolen anything from me yet."

Her words caught him off guard. Somebody had. He had, with the window closed. "An attractive woman, a town full of drunken men, and a ground floor room—that's foolishness, Keely." Gaffney came to mind. Could he be the arm behind the rock? It was either him, a random act of rowdiness, the Clan-na-Gael, or someone who suspected his true identity. The first and last two options sent a chill through him.

She shrugged. "Michael was always there to protect me." For the first time she looked a bit shy. "And now you."

"And I'm taking you upstairs."

"Oh, please do," she said.

He couldn't help laughing at her innuendo, not so innocently done, he suspected. He swept her and her things into his arms and carried them upstairs into his room. The bed creaked when he deposited her on it, but he didn't care. He began to make love to McCullough's wife for the second time that night, slowly, with no intention of pulling out early. Damn, that woman overtook his senses.
 

Chapter 9

The bed spring creaked. Dietz rolled over, rebelling against opening his eyes. Sunlight cut through the room, penetrating his closed eyelids. Damn, it was morning. His head pounded with a hangover, nothing new, but nothing to anticipate. Where was he? For the moment, he'd forgotten. Wherever he slept, another person occupied the bed with him. One who smelled sweetly of lavender and rose. In the haze before wakefulness, he hoped he'd bedded a decent looking whore, and gotten the information he'd been after, whatever that could have been. He carelessly reached for her.

"No, you don't, lover. It's morning, and one of us has got to go to work. Since you don't have a regular job, I guess that had better be me." Keely's voice sounded lilting and happy.

Dietz's eyes flew open and his hard-on came back, if indeed it had ever left. Keely sat on the bed next to him pulling on her work shift. His situation came back to him clearly. With the sun highlighting her hair and the deep green of her eyes, she made a beautiful sight. He reached out and rubbed her back. He could have sworn she purred. "Stay in bed."

"I can't. The men will be wanting their breakfast."
 

"Let them want."

She shook her head.

He dropped his hands and propped up on one elbow. She pulled the bodice up over her shoulders and began deftly buttoning it up.

"You're a hard-hearted woman."

"Aye," she laughed, "and a sore one."

He couldn't answer that; for some reason it embarrassed him. He tugged at the worn sleeve of her dress, so thin a man could nearly see through it. "Looks like one of my first orders of business as your husband should be buying you a few new dresses."

The look she gave him startled him. She was clearly shocked and embarrassed now herself. She looked down self-consciously, fingering the fine garnet ring on her finger. "Whatever you please, when the mines open up and you've got yourself regular work again."

For some irrational reason her assumption irritated him. She thought he couldn't provide for her? "What are you saying, Keely?" Unable to help himself, he pressed her cruelly.

She kept her gaze fixed on her ring. "You've done enough already, McCullough." Keely sighed. "This ring is wonderful, prettier than any I could imagine, and it makes me happy and proud. But I'm no fool. This ring cost you a pretty piece." She paused. For once she had the grace to blush, as well she should have with the accusation she made. "But there's no need for spending your reserves on frippery for me. I didn't marry you for your money."

He snorted, wounded. If only she knew. Money was the one thing he'd plenty of, and could offer her. The agency's clients usually paid all his expenses, living and otherwise. As a bachelor, he kept no house, had no wife to send the money home to. Consequently, his salary accumulated in the bank. And, though no financial genius, he'd invested in several ventures that had paid off handsomely. A few frocks, he owed her that much, just to assuage his guilt. As for the ring, the Mine Owners' Association had paid for that. Part of the expense of keeping his cover. "Frippery, is that what you call a new dress? One with material thick enough so you can't see through it?"

She flushed again. "There's no need to insult me. I was trying to be delicate." She made a move to stand, but he caught her wrist and pulled her back.

"Delicate, aye, lass?" He grabbed her chin and pulled her face around, forcing her gaze to meet his. "I'm wounded." A snippet of conversation from his days riding with McCullough came back to him. "I can't let you think I'm the kind of man who'd take a wife he couldn't support, who'd live off her. I may not be working that you can see, but I am being paid. And I've got me an interest in a fine store in Pennsylvania. My partner runs it, sending me my share of the profits monthly. I've got money to live on, money to support both of us. And if I say I'm buying you a new frock, then I am, with my own money, not yours. And you've no say about it."

"Oh, I don't?" She was choking down a smirk, surely she was.

"No, and as for this notion of yours that you're working to support us, let me clear something up for you. I'm open-minded enough to let you work right now, only because your job gets us a place to live. Not that I couldn't afford to pay for our own place. I just haven't seen one in this one horse mining town that's fit for you."

Her eyes misted over for just a minute, then she started to laugh, and he with her. "Anything you say, Ian McCullough."

He pulled her over into him, bringing his lips onto hers with a noisy crunch of the aging bedsprings. A loud pounding on the door interrupted them.

"Hey, McCullough. You're not at it again, are you? Let her go," one of their fellow tenants yelled through the door, laughter in his tone. "We're hungry and needing our breakfast." More raucous laughter floated into the room. Keely pulled away from him.

"See what you've done?" She slipped on her shoes and stood, making for the door. She moved a little tenderly.

"You should've let me draw you that bath."

She shot him a look and disappeared into the hall, slamming the door behind her.

Later, when he came down to breakfast, the men greeted him with hoots and leers. The two old gold prospectors, whose names he always had trouble keeping straight, gave him long, serious looks. But the young McNalley wasted no time with pretenses. "Miss Byrne's looking a little tired and maybe a might saddle sore today. Didn't you let her get no rest, you awful beast?"

All present laughed. That would have been fine with Dietz if McNalley would've stopped there, but then he addressed himself directly to Keely. "How was he, Miss Byrne, did he satisfy you?"

"It's Mrs. McCullough to you now, boy," Dietz said.
 

McNalley smiled back at him. "Yeah, isn't that what I was implying by my question?" McNalley's lewd tone angered Dietz. "But she still hasn't answered my question. Let me rephrase it. How's she like being Mrs. McCullough?"

"She won't be answering that question."

"Afraid of the answer, McCullough?" McNalley edged dangerously close to fighting. Dietz eyed him steadily.

Gem was nothing more than a dog pile. Too many men, all of them fighting for
 
supremacy, all wanting to be pack leader. Dietz had no intention of abdicating McCullough's well-known reputation for toughness to the young pup in front of him. Smooth as glass he drew his Colt's 45 and aimed it at McNalley. The kid paled visibly.

"Keep up this talk and the two of us will have to be stepping into the alley." Dietz caught Keely's horrified look, but she neither spoke nor made a move to stop him. Good woman. She'd just have to trust him a moment. "Mrs. McCullough is a fine woman." Dietz caressed the words, giving them a meaning beyond the innocent. Several chuckles echoed around the room. "And fine women don't go talking about such things, questioned or not. There'll be no more ribald remarks or questions, made to or in front of Mrs. McCullough." Dietz smiled. "Now if you'd asked me, I'd have said she had no complaints."

The boys, including McNalley, started hooting as the tension broke. Dietz holstered the Colt and slapped McNalley on the back. "Give the boy his breakfast, Keely. Thinking dirty thoughts tends to make a man hungry." He leaned in close to McNalley. "We got to get you a whore, lad. We do."

Keely smiled at Dietz when he looked back at her. She set a plate of eggs and ham in front of McNalley, then one in front of him, leaning low and close to him as she reached from behind. He wanted to grab her and drag her back upstairs right then. She pulled back.
 

"Mr. Allison stopped by this morning with a message for you from Mr. Waters. He wants to meet with you at the union hall at ten."

"At ten?"

"Yes." She smiled. "We've got us a little time between breakfast and then." Her meaning was clear enough. Damn, without her suggesting things, he might have been able to resist her. He sighed raggedly. She seemed determined to make a father of him yet.

###

Dietz found Waters in his private office, puffing on a large, aromatic cigar as he looked over a stack of correspondence. Waters looked up from his work when he heard Dietz's footsteps.

"You're wearing an ear-to-ear grin, McCullough, if I do say so. Have a nice evening last night?"

Am I really beaming like a fool, or is that just what everyone tells a bridegroom the day after?
 

"Seems I'm getting that from everyone today." Dietz winked. "To answer your question—I did, and a fine morning, too."

Waters kicked out the chair across the desk from him for Dietz. "Have a seat."

Dietz dropped into the chair. "You're developing a habit of sending for me straight off in the morning."

The returning look Waters gave him made him feel like a plant growing under a cloche—warm, cornered, and under scrutiny. Waters riffled through his papers, found what he was looking for, and shoved it across the desk to Dietz, considerately turning it right side up for Dietz to read.

"What's this?" Dietz arched a brow.

"A background check I ordered on McCullough back when I first thought about hiring him. I wanted to make sure he really was our man. Big Sam just brought it over from the post office. Sometimes the post can be mighty slow around here. I'd given up on ever seeing this and hired McCullough anyway."

Dietz's heart skipped a beat, noting Waters had not said,
 
A background check on you, McCullough.
He drew the papers close to him with a steady hand, keeping his expression masked.

Did this new information reveal something that suddenly had caused Waters to doubt Dietz's identity? What else explained Waters' renewed scrutiny and cautious manner?
 

Dietz wondered if he'd have to make a quick exit. His holstered Colt's 45 felt heavy and useless, but the Derringer in his inside coat pocket could be reached surreptitiously. Two or three other miners milled around in the front offices. If Dietz fired at Waters, they'd hear and come running. Those men worried him. Given everything, he placed his odds of escape at fifty-fifty. Waters would end up with the worst end of the deal—dead. He smiled back at Waters.

Waters thumped on the papers before Dietz and sat back suddenly, apparently satisfied with his work.

Dietz fanned the information out in front of him. "McCullough. Physical description," he read from the sheets before him. "Six feet tall, one hundred seventy-five pounds, dark brown hair, blue eyes, medium build, physically fit." He gave Waters a brilliant smile. "Nice description of myself. Makes me sound nice and handsome. I don't see any discrepancies, do you?"

"Thirty-eight years old," Waters shot back. "You look a little young."

Hell, yes,
Dietz thought. And with good reason. Dietz was only thirty. "I guess you're meaning that as a compliment. I don't take it as such necessarily myself, mind you. Some of us are cursed with youthful appearance."

"Cursed?"

Dietz laughed. "Other men don't like to follow boys."

Waters laughed outright, then slid open his desk drawer and withdrew a photograph. He held it with its back to Dietz, his gaze flitting between photo and Dietz, presumably testing Dietz to see if he squirmed. Dietz smiled confidently back at him. He'd been in tighter situations than this. Still, if that were a photograph of McCullough, he could be in trouble. "Something from my family album, I presume?"

Finally, Waters appeared satisfied. "Appears so." He pushed the photograph across to Dietz.

Dietz took it and held it up to inspect, spotting McCullough immediately. The grainy photograph had been taken some years back. McCullough stood in front of a building of some sort with four or five other men. He wore a felt mining hat slouched low over his eyes. Dietz laughed again, put on his own hat and adjusted it to look like the picture. "There's your problem, Waters. You should have just asked me. I'd have humored you."