Behind His Blue Eyes (22 page)

And in that respect, he was a bit frightened of her. And intrigued. Certainly confounded, and captivated in a way he had never been before.

He had definitely met his match.

A few minutes later, he swung up on Renny and headed toward his room at the hotel, wondering how and where he would begin his audition, and if Cal Bagley at the mercantile had enough French preventatives to get him through a very busy month.

Yet despite the obvious appeal of such an idea, and her unfettered enthusiasm toward it, there was something about the whole thing that just seemed . . . wrong.

* * *

It felt like he had barely closed his eyes when a pounding on his door dragged Ethan out of deep sleep. “Who is it?” he yelled, thinking if it was Yancey, he was going to wring his scrawny neck.

“Brodie. Need to talk to you.”

Something in the sheriff's voice brought Ethan instantly awake. Rising, he pulled on his trousers and a shirt. Still fumbling with the buttons, he opened the door.

Tait Rylander stood in the hall behind the sheriff. Thomas Redstone was there, too. None looked happy. Swinging the door wide, Ethan stepped back to let them through. “What's happened?”

“Gallagher's dead. Murdered. Butchered, in fact.”

As the men filed into the room, Ethan wondered why it took all three of them to impart that bit of news. Did they think he had something to do with it?

Redstone positioned himself against the wall by the window, his elbow resting atop the bureau. Rylander took the only chair, sitting back, relaxed, one knee crossed over the other. The sheriff seemed to take up all the remaining space, planted like a tree in the center of the room.

“Who did it?” Ethan asked, closing the door. “The same man who killed the others?”

Brodie's craggy face showed nothing, but his dark gaze never wavered. “That's what we're trying to find out.”

“Well, I didn't do it.”

“Glad to hear it.” Brodie's expression didn't change, although Ethan detected a slight easing across his heavy shoulders. “But there are others who might need more than your word.”

“Like who?”

“Bonet, for one. A couple of Irish gang bosses.”

“Hell.” Ethan sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots. “When did it happen?”

“Late last night. Gallagher left the Red Eye after closing. Around midnight. Probably died a couple of hours later. When the graders found him this morning, he'd already bled out.”

Ethan lifted his head. “Bled out?”

“He'd been gutted and left hanging so the blood could drain.”

“Damn.” Ethan was shocked that anyone would think him capable of that.

“We can put wagging tongues to rest right now.” Rylander uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, hands clasped, elbows resting on his bent knees. “Do you have anyone who can vouch for your whereabouts last night?”

Ethan met those probing gray eyes without hesitation. “No.”

“You're certain? Yancey heard someone come in early this morning. He thought maybe it was you.”

“He's mistaken.”

Rylander nodded and sat back. But Ethan could see he wasn't entirely convinced. The man missed nothing, it seemed.

Then a thought hit Ethan so hard it sent him rushing toward the door. “I have to go to the Pearsalls'. They're unprotected.”

“Thomas will keep an eye on the house,” Brodie said.

Prepared to argue, Ethan turned impatiently.

But the sheriff cut him off. “The circuit judge came this morning. Kelvin Witherspoon. A son of a bitch if there ever was one. Doesn't much like Heartbreak Creek and wants this settled as soon as possible so he can leave.”

“A simple preliminary inquiry,” Rylander said, rising to his feet. “Since your name has been mentioned, the judge is expecting you to be there.”

Memories swirled through Ethan's mind—other inquiries, other fingers pointed his way, other stern-faced judges glaring down at him. “But I didn't do it.”

“We know that.” Smiling, Rylander rested a hand on Ethan's shoulder. “And we'll prove it. But meanwhile, ask me before these witnesses to represent you.” Seeing Ethan's confusion, he added, “I'm a solicitor, remember.”

After Ethan complied, Brodie waved them all toward the door. “Come on, then. The judge is waiting. Oh, and try not to look at his teeth. Or laugh.”

Twenty-two

A
udra rushed along the boardwalk, her heels clicking on the weathered wood. She noticed a crowd milling about outside the sheriff's office, but didn't stop to see what was going on. She was frightfully late as it was. Mr. Bonet would make some comment about her tardiness, then raise his brows in disappointment when she admitted she didn't have the report on the social ready.

She knew all his games—his innuendoes, condescending remarks, and expressions of pained disappointment. She knew they were designed to keep her in her place, and they irritated her no end.

Yet she couldn't fault him today. She had told him she would have the piece ready, but instead of writing the promised article, she had spent the evening rolling around on the couch with Ethan Hardesty. She smiled at the memory of it, tiny shivers running through her body to places for which she had no name.

Had her gamble worked? By taking marriage out of the picture, had she pushed him closer to revealing his true feelings? He had certainly been aroused. She wasn't that much of an innocent. But by sending him away, would that interest be heightened, or diminished?

She would have to wait and see.

When she stepped through the doorway of the
Herald
, she was surprised to find Mr. Bonet absent from his desk, and only Roger Tilly, a newly hired apprentice photographer, in the office. “Good morning, Mr. Tilly,” she said, untying her bonnet and hanging it on a peg by the door. “Where is Mr. Bonet?”

“At the inquiry,” he said, riffling through boxes of photography supplies stacked in the corner by his desk. “Have you seen the folder of albumenized paper?”

“By the window. What inquiry?”

“The one about the Irishman who was killed. Tim Gallagher. Murdered, actually.”

Audra sagged into her chair. “Murdered?”

“Gutted. I had to take photographs before he was cut down.” A blush darkened the young man's freckled cheeks. “I'm ashamed to say I cast up my accounts. But I assure you I wasn't the only one.”

Audra stared at him, stunned. She heartily disliked Gallagher, but to be killed in such a foul manner . . . it sickened her. “Have they any suspects?”

“Only one. A friend of yours, I believe. Mr. Hardesty.”

“What?” Audra shot to her feet, startling Mr. Tilly into dropping his folder. “That's absurd! Mr. Hardesty would never do such a thing!”

“But Mr. Bonet said he's killed people before. In California. He showed me the clippings.”

“That's a lie! Those people were killed during an earth tremor.” Leaving the surprised young man staring after her, she stormed out of the office.

The crowd was still clustered at the door to the sheriff's office when Audra neared—obviously gawking at the inquiry proceedings inside. The short walk from the
Herald
had calmed her enough that she was able to think. If she just rushed in, shouting Ethan's innocence, people might question her sincerity—after all, even the newly arrived Mr. Tilly knew they were friends. She would have to take a more subtle approach.

Pausing, she donned her spectacles and grabbed the tablet and pencil she always carried in her skirt pocket when working, then pushed her way through the men crowded in the doorway.

Things must not be going well. Ethan sat in a chair beside the sheriff's desk, his face a scowl of fury. Even Tait Rylander, standing beside him, was grim-faced, and Sheriff Brodie looked positively thunderous.

Mr. Bonet stood before the desk, flanked by two Irish railroad workers wearing tams. Across from him, a small, dandified older man sat in the sheriff's chair, wearing the pinched expression of a person suffering chronic dyspepsia. Probably from the ill-fitting, brightly white, overlarge porcelain false teeth that moved and clicked every time he spoke.

“You're certain of that, are you, Bonet?” he barked, as Audra moved into position at the front of the onlookers.

“Yes, sir. I have the newspaper articles if you'd care to see them. A tragedy, to be sure.”

“Yet he wasn't charged in the deaths?”

“No sir. In that instance”—Bonet emphasized
that
—“there wasn't enough evidence to proceed to a trial.”

“The deaths were caused by earth tremors,” Mr. Rylander cut in. “I also have reports on the incident which will completely exonerate Mr. Hardesty, should you care to see them, Your Honor. Although, I don't see how any of that relates to the current inquiry.”

The judge sent him a glare. “I like to know the kind of man I'm dealing with. That's how it relates, Mr. Fancy-Pants Lawyer.”

Unruffled, Rylander smiled pleasantly. “The report can enlighten you in that regard, as well, sir. Mr. Hardesty is a well-respected employee of the Denver and Santa Fe Railroad, and has established strong ties to the Heartbreak Creek community.”

The judge pounced, teeth clicking. “But he hasn't yet established his whereabouts last night, has he?”

Audra cleared her throat. “If I may, Your Honor.”

The judge whipped his head around. “And who might you be?”

Audra gave her best smile. “Miss Audra Pearsall, Your Imminence. An employee of Mr. Bonet's most excellent newspaper.”

“What do you want?”

Audra blinked and simpered, a woman obviously overwhelmed by all this male attention. “Just to say that Mr. Hardesty couldn't have done this terrible murder, since he was at my house last night. In fact, he didn't leave until dawn.”

“Oh, hell,” Ethan muttered.

A gasp rose from the onlookers. Mr. Bonet looked shocked. Ethan dropped his head into his hand. Mr. Rylander frowned and Sheriff Brodie might have muttered something, but it was hard to hear over the murmuring of the crowd.

“Shut up!” the judge shouted, so vehemently his upper plate almost flew out of his mouth.

The crowd quieted. The judge righted his dentures, then fixed his gaze on Audra. His lids were heavy, on both top and bottom, so that the dark irises seemed sunken behind narrow slits in the puffy flesh. That, and the redness in his nose, proclaimed him a drinker. “You were with Mr. Hardesty? All night? Is that what you're telling us, Miss . . .”

Audra beamed and blinked. “Pearsall. Yes, sir, I was.” Then, as if suddenly realizing the import of her words, she put on a shocked face and blurted, “But not
that
way, Your Imminence! He wasn't
with
me. He was simply at my house.”

“Your Honor,” Ethan cut in.

“Quiet!” the judge ordered then turned back to Audra. “If he wasn't
with
you, then what was he doing there?”

“Answering questions.”

“About what?”

“That unfortunate incident in California you were just talking about. My employer, Mr. Bonet, has a keen interest in the event, and I thought I might impress him with a firsthand interview with the man who was blamed—wrongly, it seems—for the tragedy.”

Bonet rounded on her, his face almost as red as his hair. “You spent the entire night with him? Talking? You expect us to believe that?”

Ethan shot to his feet. Brodie and Rylander shoved him back down.

“Yes, sir,” Audra said to Bonet. “I know how it sounds, but you needn't worry. I was quite safe. My father was there, and my servants, Mr. and Mrs. Abraham, were in the next room. It was most proper, I assure you.” Beaming like a simpleton, she thrust out her tablet. “And I got a wonderful interview! I think you'll be pleased. At least, I hope so. It's my first one,” she added to the judge.

“Well, hell.” With a deep sigh, Witherspoon sat back. “Is this man the only suspect you have, Sheriff?”

“We're still investigating.”

Bonet wasn't ready to give up. “But Hardesty has a history of violence toward the dead man,” he insisted, his voice shaking with emotion. “You heard the other foremen, Judge. He threatened Gallagher right there in the saloon.”

Rylander stepped up. “Gallagher used a whip on railroad employees, Your Honor. Because of his predilection for violence toward the men under him, he had already been relieved of his position. Mr. Hardesty was simply pointing out there was no need for him to remain in Heartbreak Creek.” Turning smoothly, he aimed that piercing stare at the two Irish gang bosses behind Bonet. “Isn't that right, gentlemen?”

They might be Irish, but they weren't stupid. Both smiled and nodded. “Yes, sir. That's how it happened.”

“No threats?”

“No, sir. Hardesty just told him he better not use that whip again.”

Turning back to the judge, Rylander smiled. “In view of what we've just heard, Your Honor, I ask that no charges be brought against Mr. Hardesty.”

“Well, hell. This has been a waste of my morning, Sheriff. When I come back in three weeks, you better have this straightened out and someone lined up to hang. You got that?”

Brodie nodded.

Witherspoon slapped a hand on the desk. “Inquiry over. Now everybody get the hell out of my way. I need a drink.”

“I'll see you at the office,” Bonet snapped to Audra as he stomped past.

After the door closed behind him, only Ethan, Tait Rylander, and Declan Brodie remained behind with Audra. Neither the sheriff nor Ethan seemed pleased, but Tait Rylander was grinning. “Clever girl. You not only provided an alibi, but you defused the whole California issue. You would have made a fine lawyer.”

“Was any of that true?” the sheriff asked.

Audra blinked innocently. “That Mr. Hardesty was at my house for an interview? Of course. Although, in the strictest sense, the interview wasn't solely about California.”

“Gentlemen.” Rising abruptly, Ethan swung open the door. “If you'll excuse us, I'd like to speak to Miss Pearsall.”

“It's my office,” Brodie complained.

“Stop whining.” Tait Rylander shoved the mumbling sheriff through the doorway. “Go easy, Ethan,” he warned, with a wink at Audra. “She saved your neck.”

Ethan closed the door, took off Audra's spectacles, set them on the desk, and kissed her. “You're amazing.” Another kiss, his mouth open and demanding. “Magnificent.” His tongue brushed along hers then he drew back. “A consummate liar. And if you ever do that again, I'll wring your neck.”

Audra sighed, all those shivery feelings racing through her again.

He chuckled, his breath fanning her lashes. “But I'll still let you marry me.”

“Will you? How generous.” She rose on tiptoe to kiss him again, but he pulled out of reach.

“No, Audra. I mean it. Anyone who knows you will see right through that simpering nitwit act. ‘Your Imminence,' hell. They'll know you were lying, and that I wasn't there on some interview. I won't let you risk your reputation.”

“So you're willing to marry me to protect my reputation?” She laughed. “Oh, Ethan. This isn't the eighteen-thirties anymore. And Heartbreak Creek isn't high society. No one cares.”

“I do. Your friends do. You should, too.”

“Don't be silly.” Planting a quick kiss on his stern mouth, she picked up her spectacles and slipped them into her pocket. “Come by for dinner and we'll discuss it if you want. But meanwhile, I'd best get back to the newspaper before Mr. Bonet locks me out.” She opened the door.

“Oh, I'll definitely be there,” he warned. “Whether you like it or not, Audra, I won't leave you unprotected. Not as long as that murderer is lurking about.”

“Excellent.” She grinned back at him just before she closed the door. “Don't forget the preventatives.”

He's right. I must be insane,
Audra mused as she hurried down to the newspaper office. Twice now, Ethan had offered marriage. But each time for the wrong reason—first, because he had seen her breasts, and now, because he wanted to protect her reputation. Noble sentiments, to be sure, but hardly romantic declarations. And at heart—as evidenced by her penchant for lurid novels of adventure and romance—she was a true romantic. She needed love. The kind her father and mother had shared, a love so strong it still lingered twenty years after they had been parted. With Ethan, she could have that. But she wasn't yet certain he felt the same way, and she wasn't so desperate for security, or companionship, or children to marry a man who didn't love her back.

Unless, of course, Peter Bonet truly did lock her out. Then she might have to reevaluate. One must be practical, after all, even in matters of the heart.

He didn't lock her out. In fact, he wasn't even there, although Mr. Tilly, who was making adjustments to his box camera, said he had come in earlier, then immediately rushed out again. “Some foreign dignitary has arrived at the hotel and Mr. Bonet is hoping to get an interview with him. Wants me to get my equipment and come along. Seemed upset.”

“About the dignitary?” Audra asked, settling at her desk.

“The inquiry.”

“Oh? What did he say?”

“Something about blind fools, and how there would be more killings before this was over. Didn't make much sense to me.” The young man shot her a guarded look. “Also said to tell you not to leave until he comes back. Says he needs to talk to you. You do something wrong?”

Mr. Tilly had only been in town and at the
Herald
for a few days, but already Audra could tell he was easily cowed by Mr. Bonet. She knew his concern now was less for her than in keeping himself out of the fray if she and Mr. Bonet had a falling out.

“I defended an innocent man,” she told him. “Mr. Hardesty is not a killer, no matter what Mr. Bonet thinks.”

“I don't know anything about that.” Avoiding her gaze, he hoisted the bulky camera and tripod to his shoulder. “Another fellow came by to see you, too. A prospector or miner, by the looks of him. Said he was poking around that house of yours that burned and found something you might want.”

Audra immediately thought of the medallion she'd wanted to show Ethan last night. But she was sure she'd seen it since the fire. “Did he leave it with you?”