Jasper Mountain (18 page)

Luke shrugged as they walked around the house to the front. “More or less.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder to the back of the house, where Milena had disappeared. “The Gypsy, she’s new. First night I seen her. She’s a beaut. Miss Isabella’s got strict rules. I can look, but no touchin', much as I’d like to taste all she’s got to offer.”

Jealousy rose in Jack, shoving away any leftover wonder from the last few moments. He’d like to smack the grin from the sentry’s face. Instead, he headed for the front steps of the huge wraparound porch before he did something he’d regret. He reminded himself Luke was on guard for the ladies’ protection. For all the lovely trappings, this was a rough life for a woman.

“Guess I saved you a heap of trouble,” Luke called, catching up. “Word from dinner is Creely’s marked that one. Don’t worry, there’s plenty more to choose from.” Luke climbed the steps up the front porch, but Jack stayed at the bottom. He’d best get home and immerse himself in one of his favorite books before his manhood did take over. Fighting or whoring, either way, he’d get into trouble.

“Think I’ll head home.”

A leering grin spreading across Luke’s face. “Nothin’ to your liking inside? I find that near impossible to believe. Miss Isabella’s got everything imaginable in there, even if wholesome ain’t your appetite.”

A blush started up Jack’s neck. To his relief, Beth emerged from the front door.

“Jack!” She extended her hand, and he climbed the steps. She took his hand. “Come over this way. There are some chairs on the side of the porch. Such a beautiful night to be out.” They walked around to the other side of the house and some wicker chairs surrounding a table, forgotten poker cards scattered over its top.

“Seems I keep running into you.” He leaned against the porch rail. Beth sat down, spreading her silk skirts around her. She smiled brightly but didn’t fool him. He sensed the sadness running beneath her guileless exterior like a muddy current. “I can’t get over how pretty you are.”

She blushed. “A little different from the scullery maid,” she said, smoothing the light blue satin skirt of her dress. She laughed and the sound took the edge off his frustration. Beth looked past him, into the night. His thoughts wandered back to Milena. Inside which room of the house? And with whom?

He shook his head, trying to knock the thoughts right out of it.

“Are you happy?” he asked Beth. She seemed so young. Despite her place in the Boarding House, naïve. Innocent. Honestly, Beth reminded him of his sister. He wanted to keep her safe.

“It’s a good life.”

“That doesn’t exactly answer my question.”

She shrugged. “Is this my dream come true? No. But whose life is?”

Damned good question,
Jack thought.
Sure as hell not mine.

Beth continued, “It’s the best I can do. For now.”

“Well, I know exactly how that feels.” Jack thought of his endless hours underground. What was the difference, really? Beth was Creely’s mistress. Jack dug through Creely’s dirt. Who was he to judge these women, anyway? They were all doing their best.

“Heavens, Jack, we must switch to a happier topic,” Beth said. “Why don’t we discuss your wonderful promotion?”

“Why don’t we not?” Jack answered. Between Victor Creely, his promotion, and the woman inside, his head spun. The thought of Milena. Was she now with Victor? The thought made Jack want to storm in, beat the smug smile off Victor’s face, and carry her away from this miserable town.

“Jack?”

He snapped back to the present. “I wonder why life has to be so hard.”

“You aren’t helping me to lighten our conversation.” Jack smiled. “Let me finish by saying if you ever need anything, and I mean anything at all, you come to me. We’re friends, Beth.”

Her eyes softened with unshed tears. Perfect. She was going to cry, thanks to him. To his great relief, instead of weeping, she stood and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him.

“Thank you, Jack. No one’s ever offered such a thing to me.”

He put his arms around her tiny figure and drew her to him, tightly. “I mean it, Beth. Anything.” He closed his eyes. It felt good to hold her, protect her. Like hugging his sister again. God, he missed Jo. Squeezing Beth to him, he tried to close the wound in his heart. Just a little.

Jack opened his eyes and looked into the grim expression of Victor Creely.

W
atching Victor, Jack untangled Beth’s arms from his neck and gently set her back from him. Beth turned, and a small gasp escaped her lips.

“Beth and I were saying good night,” Jack explained.

Victor’s expression was a stone in winter, cold and unforgiving. The mine president reached into his jacket, and for a moment, Jack thought he might draw a gun. He certainly saw the chill of death in Victor’s expression. Instead, Victor withdrew a small black box and held it out to Beth, all the while observing Jack closely.

“A gift, my angel.”

Beth accepted the box and opened it. “Oh, Victor.” A sapphire necklace sparkled in the porch lamplight. “It’s beautiful.”

“Allow me.”

She turned and faced Jack, an uneasy smile on her face. Victor, on the other hand, glared at Jack while he clasped the gems around her neck, as if he hooked the collar on a favorite pet.

Victor turned Beth around to face him. “Wait for me upstairs.” A command.

She nodded and stood on her toes to kiss Victor’s cheek. “Hurry,” she whispered in Victor’s ear.

Jack dropped his gaze to his shoes. Heat flooded into his cheeks. Perfect, blushing like a schoolgirl. He listened to Beth’s footsteps reverberate away from them, and he heard the door shut somewhere around the corner.

“I’m losing patience with you,” Victor said.

“Beth and I are old friends. We were only saying good night.”

“I don’t give a damn. Listen to me very carefully, Jack. You do not touch her again.”

“Sir, I didn’t—”

“I repeat, I’m losing patience. Quickly.”

Jack clamped his mouth shut. He didn’t know what else to do. One wrong comment might turn this smoldering tinder into a raging fire. Beth was a part of this, and Jack didn’t want to risk spilling any of Victor’s anger onto her.

“Jack, explain something to me. Why are you hell-bent on mistreating me?”

The question doused Jack like cold water. “Sir?” Mistreat Victor Creely? Jack doubted anyone possessed any such ability, least of all him.

“You are familiar with an accounting register, are you not? Columns of numbers, deficits and gains?” Jack nodded.

“Allow me to clarify. On one side, gains. Positives. For instance, I save your father’s ranch from ruin. He is my best friend, my oldest and dearest. Positive, from me.” Victor paused. “Against my generosity, a deficit. He’s such a poor businessman he can’t possibly pay back what he has promised to me.”

Jack fought the urge to come to his father’s defense. Victor was right. Buck was a poor businessman. He’d trusted Victor Creely and signed his son’s life away to the mining mogul. Jack admitted to himself he was a poor businessman, too. He’d agreed to everything.

Victor continued. “Next a positive, again from me. I agree to accept the work of his son in lieu of interest. After all, you are the son of my oldest and dearest friend. And not to mention, my own godson. I take you in, teach you, and guide you to make a success of your situation. Learn a business from the ground up. Find out there is more to the world than cactus and steers. Again, a positive. Again, from me.”

Jack clenched his hands at his sides. His stomach soured.

“I promote you quicker than any other man in my employ; you are the son of my oldest and dearest friend. Once more, a positive. Oh, and not coincidentally, from me.” His voice iced. “You accuse me of murder, when really, the disappearance of a drunken miner is the actual mystery. I’d call that a deficit, and quite a large one. And straight from you.”

“Sir—”

“And lastly,” Victor interrupted, “I share with you this elite social arena. A place few are privileged enough to experience. How do you repay me, abuse my kind and generous disposition? I find my paramour in your arms.”

Silence fell. Jack heard the clicking of distant night insects, and from even farther, strains of piano music echoed down the mountainside from the saloon. Jack wished he were up there, drinking whiskey and betting his week’s wages on a card game instead of on this porch, feeling like a vile thing Victor scraped from the bottom of his boot.

“Victor, I’m only trying to find some answers. And Beth, I haven’t seen her in a while. I almost didn’t recognize her tonight,” Jack said, everything he owed Victor settling on his shoulders with twice the weight as before. “Sir, I will take care not to offend you over Beth, but Tom is still missing. I’m worried about the men. So many have died, and more will follow. It’s a matter of time. The petition made some valid statements. Points you need to consider.”

Victor sighed. “Jack, we’ve discussed this. Mining is dangerous.”

“It’s more than that. Men’s tempers are heating up. This isn’t a good situation, not for anyone. You said you wanted me to understand this business thoroughly, eventually work as liaison. Well, I’m ready for what you hired me to do.”

“And I will decide when you are ready for increases in responsibility. You have too much empathy for these animals. You still don’t see the reality. I will leave you down in that mine until you understand the situation. The miners aren’t paying you, Jack. I am.” Victor stopped and pierced Jack with a cold stare. “Allow me to grant you some excellent advice. Workers always complain; they have the need to blame someone for their miserable existence. They refuse to take responsibility for themselves. Subject closed.” Victor relaxed, looking at Jack like he was an errant child. “You’re like a son to me, Jack. At the moment, I’ll admit, a rather unruly one. Make no mistake, I’ve placed quite a bit of faith in you. Do not disappoint me.” Victor held out his hand. Jack took it. The mine president grasped, hard. “I don’t take disappointment well at all.” Victor dropped Jack’s hand and disappeared around the corner of the porch.

He heard a rustle from the darkness in the trees beyond the Boarding House light. Another rustle. Then, a snicker. Cain came into view.

“Whore ridin’ always gives me a powerful need to piss, and good thing it does. I wouldn’t have missed that ass-whompin’ for the world. Nice show, Junior.”

What more perfect end to the evening?

“Why don’t you go to hell, Cain,” Jack said, and shot off the porch, no need to control himself anymore. He craved a brawl, especially in this stupid Sunday suit. With any luck, he’d rip his jacket to shreds pounding the smirk off Cain’s face. He turned, opening his arms in welcome. “You keep telling me how tough you are. Come and prove it.”

The sheriff stood, crossed his arms, and laughed. “No thanks, Junior. I think I’ll go prove myself with the much prettier things inside. Not that you got that figured out.” He walked past Jack and turned. “You really ain’t no man, are you, Junior?” He retreated into the house, shaking his head and laughing.

Jack closed his eyes, wishing the entire night away. When he opened them, the Boarding House beckoned, lights blazing, inviting, promising all manner of pleasures within. This night at the famed Boarding House of Jasper might well be the most miserable night he’d yet experienced in the deplorable town.

Except for her. Milena. God, what was she doing in there, in the midst of that spiderweb? He glanced down at his palms, difficult to see in the dim light. Didn’t matter. Not much to see past the calluses of manual labor, of work that, as Victor so clearly pointed out, any animal like him had the capability to perform.

“Stop it, Buchanan, you’re pathetic enough already,” he said. The glow of the Boarding House dropped away when he turned to get his horse. He and Willow followed the tinny piano music up and back into Jasper, leaving the Boarding House and Milena Shabanov behind.

The saloon was perfect. Bright, garish, noisy, smelly. The cadence of rough voices peppered with an occasional shout, and offensive obscenities tumbled through the open doorway. In short, a rowdy, raucous mess. Exactly what Jack needed.

He took in the comforting odor of smoke, sweat, and whiskey. This place smelled real. He made his way around tables clustered with filthy miners and saloon girls in skirts and embellished corsets. They held trays heavy with drinks. Jack searched for Digger in the barely controlled mêlée.

A few men eyed him up and down, and he realized how ridiculous he looked in his Sunday suit, but not silly enough to inspire him to turn around and leave. He yearned for a shot of whiskey to burn all the way down to his gut. He needed to talk to Digger about the petition. Torn up or in one piece, it stood between him and his friend.

“Sam,” Jack said when he slid up to the bar, “where’s Dig?”

Sam’s eyes flickered to the closed door of the back room. If Jack had blinked, he would have missed it.

“He ain’t here,” Sam lied. Jack headed to the back of the saloon. “Dig ain’t back there, Jack, he left,” Sam called after him, still lying, and Jack thought he knew why. If Digger was dealt into a card game, then the miner was in big trouble. He was the worst poker player either side of the Rockies and famous for losing every penny he owned in a night. Sam received a generous cut of the spoils.