Katie Rose (10 page)

Before she could answer, he sped out the door. Emily rose and watched him run, tapping a finger against her lip. So the sheriff had introduced Thomas to the boy. Why? And why was Thomas at the sheriff’s office, then at the coroner’s, reading the file on her father?

Emily recalled his explanation, and her pulse quickened at the thought that it was really due to his interest in her. Could Thomas be feeling the same confusing emotions for her that she felt for him? Glancing into the mirror, she saw her dowdy dress, lack of jewelry, and her maidenly knot. Try as she might, she could see no feminine beauty or frippery that would entice a man. Her heart sank. She must be utterly foolish to believe Thomas could be interested in her.

And yet, there was something about the way he looked at her … something sweetly compelling in those deadly blue eyes. She shook her head, forcing the notion from her thoughts. Romance had no bearing on logic, she firmly reminded herself. Thomas was a suspect at the moment, her most important suspect. As attractive as he might be, she’d have to proceed with her plans. It was high time she followed him and found out who he really was and what he was really doing here. She was a detective first, a woman second.

A twig stabbed into Emily’s cheek, nearly putting out her eye. Grateful for her glasses, which were the only reason she hadn’t just been transformed into a Cyclops, Emily swatted the offending rhododendron branch away from her face. Shifting her bottom on the uncomfortable bed of dead leaves and flowers, she peered through the thicket outside Mrs. Haines’s boardinghouse once more.

Where was he? He should have come out sometime before noon, Emily reckoned, since he had always managed to be under her feet by midafternoon. Opening her casebook, she glanced at the scribbled notes from the coroner’s report and her conversation with Thomas regarding the sheriff. The two-million-dollar notation glared at her, and her nose wrinkled as she underlined the figure.

Could her father really have stolen that much
money? A shudder went through her as she realized how little she knew about her next of kin. And what facts she did have weren’t promising. He’d left her and her mother to go west and make his fortune. Perhaps he had fallen into the wrong company, and chosen a road that lead irrevocably to disaster. The house and Rosie’s presence certainly indicated that. Yet something just didn’t add up. If he had stolen the gold, where was all the money?

Then there was Rosie. Even though she hadn’t appeared again, Emily couldn’t stop thinking about her. Was it really possible for a murdered woman to come back from the dead? She couldn’t credit such a thing. She had to have imagined it. But why would she conjure the spirit of her father’s paramour?

There were just too many threads here. She would have to find someone who knew her father and Rosie, someone who would talk. Emily hummed a little ditty designed to clear her mind. After all, she couldn’t figure out everything in one sitting. This afternoon her focus was the handsome Reverend Hall.

It was as if he heard her thoughts, for a moment later, the preacher walked purposefully out of the boardinghouse and toward town. Emily kept as still as possible, not allowing so much as the rustle of a rhododendron leaf to give her away. Thomas paused for a moment beside the path, and Emily held her breath. Did he see her? He searched in his pockets for something, then finally proceeded on his way.

She exhaled slowly. That was close. Evidently he had paused to light a cigar, for she saw the faint glow of tobacco in his hand as he walked. She waited until
he was at least fifty feet ahead, then climbed out of the bush, oblivious to the twigs and leaves stuck to her. Then she began following him.

It was more difficult than she’d anticipated, for she had to keep a good distance between them and yet not let him out of her sight. Thomas appeared to be window gazing, pausing at one store, then another, nodding politely to the townspeople. If she didn’t know better, she would think he knew he was being followed. Emily was forced to dodge between buildings, hiding behind a fat matron with a parasol in order not to be seen. She ignored the startled glances of the town’s ladies, focusing only on her quarry. Her eyes rolled in disgust as two young women curtsied outside the dry goods store, giggling, while their mothers tried to detain him. He was quick on his feet, she’d give him that, for he managed to keep moving without insulting anyone.

Abruptly, he stopped, then glanced back as if searching for someone. Emily ducked quickly into a cobbler’s shop, positioning herself at the window so she could continue to watch him. The proprietor gawked at her, taking in her leaf-bedecked dress and the twig protruding from behind one ear.

“Excuse me, ma’am. Can I assist you?”

“No.” Emily peeked out the door once more. Thomas was gone. In that one second that she’d turned her head to answer the man, he’d disappeared. Exasperated, she dashed outside, brushing past the surprised groups of bankers standing on the granite steps of their institution. Frantically she
looked up and down both sides of the street, then sighed in relief as she spotted Thomas entering the barbershop.

Determined not to lose him again, Emily stood directly outside the establishment and peered covertly into the shop. There were three chairs inside, and a counter laden with shaving soap, lime oil, colognes, and towels. Emily thought she could hear Thomas talking with the barber, but both men seemed to have disappeared into a back room.

Now what? Emily’s mind worked frantically. Thomas could be innocently getting service from the barber, but if so, why wasn’t he in the chair? What if he were secretly meeting someone? The barbershop would be the perfect place. Concealed from public scrutiny, he could conduct any kind of activity, with the watchful eye of the barber on the door.

As the minutes ticked by, Emily grew more suspicious. Surely if he were simply getting a haircut, he’d be in the chair by now. She couldn’t just stand here and let an opportunity slip by, and yet she couldn’t enter the strictly male domain without giving herself away. Fuming with impatience, she surveyed the property. Perhaps she could slip in the back door and try to hear what was going on.

An alleyway between the shop and the bank provided the perfect route. Emily quickly disappeared into the shadows, then rounded the back of the building. A thrill raced through her as she saw a screen door slightly ajar, and she slipped into the storeroom unnoticed.

Thomas’s voice came from the next room. Emily pressed her ear to the wall, but the thick wood muffled the words. Noticing a door with a keyhole just a few feet away, she crept closer and crouched down, listening intently.

“Could use a new preacher. Got a priest, but the more good influence here, the better.”

“So I’ve seen. Denver seems like a nice town, but a little rowdy. And the unmarried women here are pretty persistent.”

Emily heard a chuckle. “I can well imagine that. Good-looking preacher like you. You’re every mama’s dream. The poor Reverend Flatter left town last fall just for that reason. I don’t think the ladies would ever accept his … preference.”

“Well, that’s not exactly my problem,” Thomas said dryly, and Emily rolled her eyes.

The barber chuckled, then Emily heard the quiet clink of glass. “Looks like I forgot the lotion. Must have left it on the counter in the shop. I’ll fetch it and be right back.”

Emily could hear his footsteps receding. Was he gone yet? Was someone else there? What were they doing? She leaned against the door, pressing her ear firmly against the keyhole. Unfortunately, the hinge gave under the pressure, and Emily toppled into the room.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my dear Miss Potter,” Thomas said, his voice laced with laughter. Suds floated around his legs, and shaving soap covered his chin. The barber had apparently been prepared to give him a shave while he soaked in a hot tub.

“Why—I—” Emily stuttered, her face getting warm. She was facing a very naked and very amused man of the cloth. Acutely aware of his lean masculine form glistening with soap, his muscles providing enticing little curves and valleys for droplets of water to trace, Emily swallowed hard, then tore her eyes away. But not before she saw the knowing twinkle in the wretched preacher’s blue eyes.

“I can explain.…”

“Yes, please do,” Thomas said, biting on his pencil-thin cigar. “I’d like to hear that myself.”

“I—” Emily tried to speak, but couldn’t form a coherent sentence. Good God, how could a man look so sinfully sexy? She was transfixed. Her mouth actually watered. His legs, bent at the knees, were firm and solid, covered with dark hair, while his arms, relaxed against the metal tub, showed a strength that was clearly not of an ecclesiastical nature. Only a teasing handful of bubbles hid the rest of him from her, and she could only guess it was just as wickedly magnificent.

“If you were that eager for my company, Miss Potter, all you had to do was say so,” Thomas said dryly. “I’d have been happy to oblige.”

“I—I didn’t come here for that! I mean—your company! I mean—” Emily’s words tripped over each other, her eyes drawn unwillingly back to his magnificent form. If she crossed the few feet between them, she could touch that warm, bare skin.…

“I see. You were thinking, perhaps, of ordering a bath? A little unusual, maybe, but then this is you we’re discussing. Please feel free to join me in
mine.” He gestured invitingly to the water with his cigar.

“Oh!” His meaning struck Emily fully as she pictured what he implied. If her cheeks had been hot a moment ago, they were feverish now, and her mouth went suddenly dry. Instinctively, she took a step backward. Thomas opened his mouth as if to warn her, but she had already crashed into the clothes tree. It fell to the floor with a terrible noise, and Thomas’s hat flew into the tub. Water splashed his face and extinguished his cigar.

“Oh, Thomas, I’m
sorry
!” Mortified, Emily dove for the hat before it was ruined, too. Her fingers plunged into the suds next to the hat when she felt her wrist captured tightly in Thomas’s fist, preventing her from going any further.

“Looking for something?” His voice was teasing, yet his eyes burned like blue-black coals. He retrieved the hat himself with his free hand, then tossed it on top of his clothes. “When a lady goes fishing around in my bathwater like that,” he drawled, “it can only mean one thing.”

“Why—I—let go of me!” Emily twisted, trying to break free, but Thomas’s grip was like steel.

“I don’t think so.” He drew her closer, so close she was forced down on one knee. She had to brace herself on the tub to keep from falling in. Emily’s mouth dropped open as she saw the wide expanse of his chest through the rainbow prisms of the bubbles. Desire, hot and intoxicating, shot through her, heightened when he lightly trailed a suds-covered finger from her cheek down to her neck.

“Emily.” His voice sounded hoarse and oh so seductive. “It isn’t a good idea to invade a man’s bath like this, do you realize that? It makes him think that maybe you want this, that maybe …”

A strangled little cry came from Emily’s throat, and she closed her eyes, savoring his touch. It was like wet fire, heating her flesh more than the burn on her hand, making her think of indecent things, things no lady ever dreamed of. A drop of water fell from his arm and splashed her dress. The wet cloth made the tip of her breast even more sensitive, and she felt the delicious ache spread through her skin. Swallowing hard, she opened her eyes, and saw her own smoldering passion burning brightly in his. His face drew closer, and she knew he was going to kiss her.

“Here it is,” the barber’s voice chirped happily. “I had used up the last bottle so I had to get a new one.”

Emily watched in horror, her heart pounding, as the barber strolled back into the room with a towel thrown over one shoulder and a bottle of shaving lotion and a razor strop under his arm. His triumphant smile disappeared when he saw Emily practically draped across Thomas’s lap. Emily shot to her feet as Thomas quickly released her wrist.

“I—I—” she stammered in renewed mortification.

The barber’s face grew thunderous. “What in the hell is going on here?”

“It’s not what you think—” Emily squeaked, her voice several notes higher than normal.

“What she means is, she fell in here by mistake.” Thomas attempted, but the barber wagged a finger at both of them.

“I don’t go for any fooling around in my shop. If you’re one of those new saloon girls, tell Nancy to keep her business under her own roof. And you a preacher! You ought to be ashamed—”

“No! Please, let me explain—” Emily blushed furiously. “I … was passing by, and saw Thomas, er, the Reverend, disappear in here. I thought it rather odd that he wasn’t in the chair, and suspected that something foul was going on. I didn’t think to cause any trouble. I just … wanted to make sure he was all right.”

Emily wasn’t sure why she felt compelled to help Thomas maintain his preacher facade, but she did. Gratitude flashed in his eyes, then was gone so quickly she thought she’d imagined it, replaced by the outraged innocence of a holy man.