The Union (5 page)

"Go on home, Keely." His voice came out deeper, more drawling than he wanted. "This isn't something a lady should see."

Keely's stomach felt tight and sick at the sight before her. How could McCullough just stand there and watch it happen? And yet as her gaze beheld his, she saw the spark of compassion in his eyes, his own horror at the spectacle before them. Maybe she could trust him.

"No, indeed! This isn't something a
human being
should see!" Keely's heart pounded in her ears. Her hands trembled as she glanced around the crowd. "Shame on you! Shame on you all. Violence against the innocent and the weak never overcomes tyranny. Save your anger for the real culprits—the owners. Go after them where it hurts, in their pocketbooks."
 

Keely nodded to McCullough, turned on her heel, and retreated. But only around the corner, to the shadow of the building just out of McCullough's sight. She'd not go one step closer to home until she made certain they didn't kill the scab, until McCullough saved him as she'd challenged him to do. She pressed herself tightly against the building and dared to peek around the corner at the action still unfolding.

Damn, a woman who obeys
, Dietz thought.
What an enigma that woman is turning out to be.

Relieved she'd left, he looked down to the man at his feet. In a glance, he took in the delicate rise of Waller's chest. Maybe it wasn't too late to save him.

Waller coughed, spitting up blood and water. "Thursday," he said only loud enough for Dietz to hear before his head rolled to the side and he passed out again.

Dietz held his arms up with his palms out toward the crowd. His heart thudded in his ears. One wrong move and he joined Waller. "Thursday," Dietz shouted.
 

The crowd roared.
 

Dietz couldn't get the picture of Keely from his mind.

"What time? Get the time!" Someone screamed from the audience. Another man moved in with a rope. Dietz pushed him away.

"What's the point? He can't tell us more." Dietz cleared his throat. "Take this man." Dietz nudged Waller with the toe of his boot. "And dump him at the entrance of the Gem Mine."

Several men stepped forward and hoisted Waller up.
 

Brown clapped Dietz on the back. "Good thinking, McCullough." The judge nodded, smiling. "Let the boys take him." He chuckled. "Can you imagine those scabs up there at the Gem quaking in their boots? Wonder how long it'll take them to get up the nerve to open up and bring Waller in."

Dietz forced a smile. "Thank you, Judge."

The judge nodded toward the bar. "Let's get us something to drink while we plan what to do about that train load of scabs we're expecting. First drink's on me."

The judge prattled on, gloating about their triumph, but Dietz wasn't listening. In his mind, he kept seeing Keely coming around the corner, kept feeling the stun of it. He had trouble on his hands with that woman. Big trouble, and most of it deep down in his own core where she stirred something in him that he didn't like feeling—not one bit.

As the crowd dispersed, Keely darted back around the corner and turned to tip her head back against the wall and release a pent up sigh. "Yes," she whispered and pounded the air in victory. The scab had a chance now, all thanks to McCullough's quick thinking.
 

McCullough! He was everything she'd imagined—courageous, honorable, compassionate. She smiled broadly, so proud of him, so happy to be proved right in her regard for him. Why had she doubted him?

Men began coming around the building in her direction. Time to get home. Remembering the looks of hatred, the bloodlust in the eyes of the mob, she shook off a shudder and quickened her step. Her hands trembled like white pines in the wind as she picked up her skirts to avoid dragging them in the dusty street. The enormity of her hasty actions overcame her. What had she been thinking by jumping unarmed and with no plan into the midst of such evil? She couldn't have stopped the men on her own. When would she learn to think before acting? When men stopped hurting each other? She shook her head. Probably never. On all counts.

She hurried across the street. Because she was a woman, the men probably would not have harmed her. They hadn't beaten up a woman yet. Tossed her out of the way—certainly. Pawed her up, yes. Burning the boardinghouse, running her out of town, terrorizing her—in that frenzied mood, now spent, she believed them capable of all of that. Thank God for McCullough! What would she have done without him? In the future she must check her indignation. After all, she sympathized with the union, if not always with their methods.

Dietz staggered up the boardwalk to the boarding house. It was late. The sky had clouded up again. Nary a star lit his way in. Too much whiskey swirled his thoughts in an ugly direction. Blood. The sight of Waller beaten, maybe dying. He tried to push the images away, but they remained, distorted and inflated by drink. Usually alcohol numbed his senses, but not tonight.

He wasn't squeamish. In his days as a cowpuncher he'd seen good men gored by bulls, trampled by runaway cattle. Working as a private detective he'd seen his share of killing. Thoughts of McCullough's vacant stare came to him. Killing in self-defense was one thing, but this blatant bloodlust...
 

He shivered. Patterson was right. These union men were rabid anarchists. And Keely Byrne lived right in the midst of it all.

Keely. Now that's what made him squeamish. His reaction to her. She lived in a world on the opposite side of his. He shouldn't be feeling a thing for her, not one. So why couldn't he shake the impact she'd made on him that afternoon?

He stumbled up the front step and collided with the front doorframe, cursing. He paused at the door. Well, one thing was certain. Miss Keely Byrne wasn't going to be happy with McCullough's behavior tonight. He'd be lucky if she didn't throw McCullough out. But Dietz wasn't so pleased with her antics earlier, either.

He pushed the front door open, anticipating slipping quietly upstairs, but his boots clunked noisily on the wooden floor. As he slipped them off, he paused, trying to remember what room was his. That was the problem with being so many people. You were always trying to recall where home was.
 

"McCullough?" A gentle, feminine voice sliced through the silence.

Dietz started and turned toward the sound. Keely sat in the dark at the kitchen table. Why hadn't he noticed her? Damned whiskey.

In the dark, he couldn't make out her features, only her silhouette. Her hair fell loose over her shoulders. He heard the clinking of glass, like the lid of a kerosene lamp being removed, then the strike of a match. Suddenly, she was illuminated at the table. She wore nightclothes, a white wrapper with gown peeking through. To his surprise, she didn't look angry. Her green eyes sparkled in the light, like she was happy to see him. After he'd ordered her home and caroused all night, how could that be?

"Keely. You shouldn't have waited up." Did his voice sound slurred?

"Have a seat, McCullough." She kicked a chair out for him opposite her.
 

He should have apologized. At least, he felt that's what McCullough should have done. John Dietz had never operated by the clock and had never been keen on commitment or asking forgiveness. Probably had to do with being on his own so young. But Keely didn't seem to be expecting an apology, so he didn't offer one.

"How was the meeting?"

"The meeting?"

"After I left."

She
was
cool.

"Productive." Dietz dropped into the chair. It felt good to sit, but disconcerting to be stared at so obviously. What was the woman looking for? Worse still, he had a hard time focusing on her face. His gaze kept drifting to the well-formed nipples poking through the thin cotton of her wrapper. Damn whiskey. It always made him amorous.

Maybe it
had
been too long since he'd been with a woman. It sure had been too long since he'd been with a good woman, if, indeed, he ever had. But he couldn't fool himself. Keely Byrne was attractive. He'd always been partial to dark, auburn hair and green eyes—and curves.

"Productive," Keely repeated. "You'll have to be more specific. Does the scab live?"

Dietz nodded, too tired and too drunk to keep up pretenses with Keely. If anyone would find him out, she would. "But we sent a message to the owners. One they can't well ignore."

Keely nodded, looking hesitant. "I'm sorry. I owe you an apology. I should have trusted you—"

"Damn right, lass."

"But I didn't know if you were still back in Burke or not." She hardly looked contrite.

"You could have gotten yourself run out of town." Maybe it was only the drink, but the conversation made little sense to Dietz. She apologized when he should have?

She smiled and shrugged. "Wouldn't have happened. You would have protected me."

"You have great faith in my abilities, especially considering you didn't think I'd be there."

"Lunn wouldn't let them harm me either."

Damn that Lunn.
Dietz needed to shift topics.

"Why aren't you mad at me?" Damn, that was Dietz talking, not McCullough. What did it matter anyway, other than it was blasted odd? Even the whores he kept company with on other missions got possessive. And this woman had every right to be, but wasn't. He was supposed to be her fiancé, and he sure hadn't acted like it. He'd have to remedy that before she got suspicious. He hadn't brought her a present or anything. He tried to think, but the whiskey fog blocked him. Did McCullough have a present for her among his things? Women liked gifts.

"Mad at you for what? For being late? For being drunk? Why should I be? You saved the scab and still managed to make a point to the owners. What is a little drunkenness compared to that? You like your drink, like Michael did. I wouldn't have expected different. Besides, once we met Mr. Allison, I knew you wouldn't be coming back for supper. And after the incident by the tavern, I realized you might not come back till dawn. I never made that special pie. I'll make it tomorrow."

What kind of a life had Keely led? How had Michael schooled her to be so blasted tolerant? He resisted the urge to shake his head. Keely stared at him intently. "I'm glad you're not mad, but what in the devil are you staring at?"

"You." She smiled, looking almost shy for the first time.

"Me?"

"You don't look exactly like you described yourself."

Dietz's heart thudded, pounding so loud it hurt his head. If she decided he wasn't McCullough after all...
 

He forced a lopsided grin. "How so?"

"Your eyes." Her voice grew soft. "They're not plain old blue, like you said. They're, well, they're nearly violet." Her voice became breathy, too alluring. "Ian McCullough, you're so beautiful, you're nearly perfection." Her gaze fell from his face.

What the hell? No woman had ever spoken of him so tenderly before. He was oddly moved, and damned uncomfortable. Coming on top of all that had happened today, he didn't like it one bit.

She stood. "Let me make you some coffee. Michael always liked to chat over a cup of coffee when he got back from a meeting." Her words were simple enough, but she sounded almost forlorn, a shade uneasy. What had he done now?

Dietz shoved his chair back and came around the table to stand in front of her. "Don't bother about the coffee, Keely. I don't need any." He caught her chin and pulled her face up, forcing her to look at him. Her fair skin felt soft against his rough hand, as soft as he imagined. "Something wrong, Keely?"

Her eyes misted, making him uncomfortable. He'd always been a sucker for a vulnerable woman. "I'm just a camp cook and a boarding house worker. Why would a man as powerful, smart, and handsome as you want me?"

Dumbfounded, he dropped his hand from her chin.

"What will I do, McCullough, if you don't want me?"

Dietz couldn't believe her words. Either the woman was amazingly coy, or she really believed what she said. On any account, her words sliced through him like a stiletto. Damned guilt again. "You'd be the same strong, independent woman you've shown me through your letters these last years. You'd get by. But that isn't going to happen, darling." What was he saying?
 

She looked up at him. Almost without thinking, he bent to kiss her. Her lips were moist when they met his, and there was nothing shy about the way she pressed herself against him. He felt himself go long and hard. All the ugly thoughts and incidents of the night faded away. The soft, round feel of Keely against him, and the innocent probing of her tongue consumed him. He crushed her to him in a long embrace, tracing her shapely backside with his hands. The heavy thudding of boots on the boardwalk outside brought him to his senses. Damn, he had to pull away before he went too far. Another bolt of conscience come from nowhere.

As the footsteps receded into the night, he separated from Keely. The light made her eyes emerald, and she looked wild and flushed, and eager. He liked the sight of her far too much.

She cleared her throat and straightened the folds of her wrapper. He couldn't help himself from speaking. "You have nothing to worry about, Keely."