Crossings (37 page)

Carrigan didn't like the way Bayard said Helena's name so familiarly. Jealousy filled him. He would have walked away from Kimball if passersby hadn't trod in front of them. After nodding to the gentlemen, the judge redirected his gaze to Helena. “Even though she wed you, I'm glad she was able to continue our friendship in the manner that she has. Helena is a charming, warm person. From what she's told me, married life has been quite an adjustment for her.”

This tidbit froze Carrigan in his tracks. What had Helena been telling Kimball about their marriage? His teeth gritted together, and no matter how badly he wanted to walk away, Bayard had piqued his interest just enough for Carrigan to grin and bear whatever else he had to say.

“She's had to adjust no more than any other woman would have had to,” Carrigan offered.

“But she's had things somewhat harder, hasn't she?”

Carrigan's stomach twisted. Kimball knew something. It was deep, dark, and wicked, and he was going to reveal it with relish. That much was transparent on his face. “What are you getting at?”

“She's had to fill the shoes left vacant by your first wife. That's an imposition put on any woman, and it takes a strong one to come through.” Bayard's lips lifted unkindly. “Unharmed.”

The disclosure hit Carrigan hard enough for him to move back on his heels a short fraction. Helena had spoken to this man about Jenny? “Are you implying something?”

“Suicide.”

The small word had a powerful impact on Carrigan, touching an unguarded spot. He feigned ignorance, hoping the other man was merely trying to bait him. “Suicide?”

But Bayard knew. His gray eyes smoldered like the ashes that had been the remains of his old home. “Helena said your first wife killed herself after she was repeatedly raped by cavalrymen. Such a horrible way to die,” he tsked. “Suicide by setting herself on fire, burning the house down, and killing your father in the blaze. It must have been a difficult burial for you to attend. You have my condolences even now.”

Treachery through a weakness was betrayal at its best. The knife cut sharp, and with such a poisoned blade, Carrigan could feel the sickness spreading through his insides like slow-pouring molasses. There was no worse a traitor than one who had been trusted with the truth. And he had trusted Helena. She was the only one in Genoa who knew about his past life. The hell he'd been through; the hell he lived in yet.

“I can see this is a sensitive subject for you,” Bayard said with an unassuming tone. “You can rest assured I'll keep the details to myself, if you like.
Everything that Helena tells me—in private—I hold in the strictest confidence.”

Resentment throbbed in Carrigan's skull. He didn't want to know, yet he had to. “What else did she tell you?”

“I've never made an itemization. . . .” Bayard conceded with a shrug. “There are many things we discuss. Too many to recall.”

“About me.”

“Nothing more than that your other wife killed herself after being raped.” Bayard paused, the black slashes of his eyebrows raised as if he were deliberating what to impart next. “It may not be my place to tell you, but since I do care about her, I think you should know that Helena was very distraught over the news of a woman in your life being raped. Especially now that the Indians have begun attacks. She told me just the other day that she's worried about adequate protection in the stockade. About the possibility of being violated herself since you'd been gone when your previous wife was attacked.”

Carrigan tasted bile, hot and stinging in his throat.

“But I assured Helena that the town is quite safe, and that in your absence, she may rely on me. As she always has.”

“My absence?”

“She said you were going to be living separately in the near future.” Bayard appeared somewhat uncomfortable, toying with the chain of his watch. “I was more than a little surprised by her statement that you intended to live away from her and that she was agreeable . . . actually very enthusiastic about this.”

Enthusiastic?
He'd known Helena wanted him to move out in the middle of October, but he'd thought in recent days that she'd changed her mind. There was only one clear-sighted reason why she was sticking by the original plan. She didn't love him. She never had, and never would. The deal had been basic from the
beginning. She'd never strayed from it, until he'd pushed for intimacy. It had been her intention to live as man and wife in name only. And that was still her decision.

He had no reason to doubt Kimball. Helena herself had said she'd traded confidences with the man. She'd admitted to associating with him and made no effort to hide their friendship, even though she'd had a recent falling out with him. Obviously they'd overcome their grievances, and in the process, she'd unloaded her mind. In a big way. Whatever else she'd told Kimball went unsaid. In all likelihood, the judge knew it all. Carrigan's failure to find the men responsible for raping Jenny, his shame and guilt. Why stop at just divulging a woman's suicide? Why not impugn him with all the damaging material? Though the reason she saw fit to discuss private matters, Carrigan couldn't understand. She had stood up for him when Kimball accused him of thievery. That counted for a lot. But she'd always been close to the judge, and her discussion with him, even if Helena thought it an innocent exchange, was unforgivable.

“It's just as well you'll be living on the parcel alone,” Bayard's voice intruded. “Helena needs security. You can see that her home and her station are her livelihood. You couldn't drag her away from that and expect her to be happy. It takes a strong man to admit his wife is better off without his constant guidance. But don't worry. I'll be here for her and make sure she is suitably looked after. I always have.”

Carrigan could hear nothing else other than the fiddler, who threw all his powers into playing. The notes pounded in his head. Air seemed a precious commodity, and he suddenly couldn't get enough of it into his lungs. He was almost to the point of suffocation as the room seemed to devour what was left of his body, and he withdrew within himself.

Feeling dead, he walked out the doors to think.

*  *  *

Bayard could barely contain a victorious smile. He'd been right. His hunch had paid off. Carrigan
had
told Helena about his first wife. Because of that, Carrigan had consumed every word he'd fed him. He'd been able to poison him with his own venom—the disgusting truth of his own past. The ease with which he'd been able to manipulate him was almost laughable.

A man without a past to show always had a past to hide. And Bayard had tripped upon Carrigan's with practically no effort at all. The information had come without the difficulty of a long pursuit. He had the best wedge he could ever hope for to drive firmly between Carrigan and Helena.

Distrust.

Distrust could strip the flesh off a man, and make a woman never believe in him again. The first part of his plan had worked without a hitch. Now he would begin on the second.

He walked up to Helena, who was no longer talking to Mrs. Hunt, Mrs. Osterman, and the Mexican cook Helena kept on at the Express. Bowing slightly, he gave her a solicitous smile—a light smile she returned with a beauty that captivated him. He couldn't stop himself from taking one of her hands into his own and giving her gloved fingers a gentle squeeze.

“I am so glad to see you here tonight, Mrs. Carrigan.” He hated calling her that man's name, but had to show his respect if he wanted to win her completely. “It's good to see you at one of Genoa's dances. I trust this won't be your one and only appearance.”

“That will have to depend,” she replied graciously, “if my husband is willing to come to another dance.” Rather than look Bayard in the eyes, she scanned the crowd over his left shoulder. He found her search for Carrigan annoying, but didn't show her his anger.

The band, which had been forever belting out rambunctious melodies, began to strum a lilting waltz.
Bayard couldn't have asked for better timing. Crooking his arm, he addressed the woman of his heart. “This dance would be wasted without you.”

Her soft gaze took a quick inventory of the room. “I can't. I promised the waltz to Jake.”

Bayard conceded with a polite sigh, “Of course.” Then he let his gaze follow hers. “Where is he?”

“I don't know. He said he was going outside for a moment to smoke, but I haven't seen him return.”

“He's probably indulging in more than one cigarette. There are a group of men on the boardwalk who are discussing the fire, and how they're going to organize rebuilding the businesses that were destroyed. Perhaps he's offering his assistance.”

“Perhaps  . . .”

Bayard clasped his hands behind his back, nonchalance in his stance, as he forced himself to admire the dancers. He didn't want to pretend he was relaxed when he wasn't and only gave his artificial interest a scant minute before moving in on Helena. “We could join in the waltz until Mr. Carrigan returns. Then I'll gladly bow out for him to continue with you.”

Hesitation marked her delicate brows. “But I promised.”

“And you shall keep your promise. Just as soon as he comes back. That's
my
promise to you.” Bayard gave her no further room to beg off, sweeping her into his arms and twirling her on the waxed floor.

She was like an elusive angel in his grasp. Light and effervescent, dressed in a virginal white. Feeling the way he did now, he could pardon her for sleeping with Carrigan. For Bayard would make her forget she'd ever known another man.

“He'll return very shortly, I'm sure,” Bayard consoled when he observed the disquiet in her lovely blue eyes.

With masterful domination, he moved Helena through the waltz, feeling the stirrings of genuine
rapture take hold of him. Earlier he'd spoken to Captain Eli Garrett and told him that he would be at his service should his company require any legal documentation drawn up during their stay. Keeping communication with the military open and friendly would be an asset. Things like that counted when it came time for political appointments. Everything was fitting into place. Now all he had to do was keep Helena in doubt about Carrigan's ability to take care of her.

“I dare to bring up a delicate subject—only because of the Indian trouble, mind you—about your husband's first wife.”

Helena's face went pale. “How . . . ?”

“It wasn't hard to find out.”

“You checked into my husband's past?”

“Only by accident. The details of how really aren't important.” He hoped he'd appeased her with his vague answer, and rather than wait for her to grill him further, he continued in a tone riddled with sincerity, “As I said, I only bring the matter up because I don't want you to feel as if you're in the same kind of danger of attack. You needn't be afraid of the soldiers. Not all of them are rapists, and you know that if you have any trouble at the store, you may rely on me to deal with it with the heavy hand of the law.”

“I don't anticipate any trouble,” Helena said, her voice low. “I have Jake to protect me.”

“But he won't always be there for you. Just like he wasn't there for his first wife.”

Helena's cheeks colored.

“I'm only pointing out the truth. You know what happened and why it happened to that lovely young girl. Jake Carrigan wasn't around for her.”

“I don't want to dance anymore,” Helena said, trying to pull away.

Bayard wouldn't let her go. “My dear, my dear,” he said in a calming voice. “I mean you no harm. I don't
want you to feel like you have no one to turn to. That's why I mentioned this. I wanted you to know that you can count on me. Always.”

Helena said nothing.

“I didn't mean to upset you.” Bayard applied pressure on her back and attempted to pull her a scant inch closer. She barely moved, faltering in the beat of the music. “Nothing will happen. But if this war continues for an extended time, you'll be alone with Emilie, and I want you to feel secure.”

“I do feel secure.”

“Perhaps at the moment, but have you forgotten what it was like after your father's death? You were vulnerable.”

“But I'm not anymore.”

“Of course you're not. Not now. But you will be. You told me yourself. Times are changing. The town is growing. Hoodlums come and go. I am only one man trying to keep law and order in it all.” He smiled at her, trying to get her to do the same. “If anything, think of Emilie. She's so young. Know that I'll be watching out for you from my window. I'll keep an eye on the station.”

“That's not necessary.”

“Of course it's necessary. Please . . . don't fret,” he crooned. “Didn't your father tell you, you could trust me?”

She barely nodded.

“You can, because it's true.” He tried to lighten the mood, now that he'd laid out his plans. “Smile. Just a little. For me. For old times' sake.”

But Helena didn't, and he blamed it on Carrigan ruining her chances of true happiness.

*  *  *

Carrigan came back to the assembly after several smokes. He would have left for good, but he had to confront Helena and ask her why she'd seen fit to tell Kimball about his past. Carrigan had never asked her to keep the information to herself, but he'd figured it
went unspoken that his disclosure was close to his heart—a secret he'd kept to himself for years, and something that he'd wanted to stay between them. He never would have revealed her affair with Kurt to anyone.

When Carrigan finally caught sight of Helena, she wasn't alone. She was dancing with Kimball. The image flared Carrigan's nostrils, and his eyes narrowed. Though she didn't look like she was enjoying herself overmuch, she was still dancing the waltz with the judge.