Rugged and Relentless (12 page)

“No. I’m not in it at all. I already told you, Mr.—”

“Klumpf.” His companion shoved out a hand for a friendly shake. “Volker Klumpf. Glad to hear you say you aren’t after riches. I hadn’t pegged you for the mercenary sort.”

Let’s hope you never have cause to see just how mercenary I can be, Mr. Klumpf
. An unlikely concern. True, he’d looked him over with a keen eye at first—same as he did most men. Klumpf seemed about the right height, right age, with brown eyes and shaggy brown hair to loosely match the all-too-vague description Jake worked with. But Klumpf’s eager conversation, blithe revelation of his plans, and the gap-toothed smile giving him the air of a good-natured puppy pointed to a conscience so clean it would squeak if anything rubbed it wrong.

Just like when he’d thought Jake might be after the mystery women’s money …

If Volker Klumpf’s a scheming thief and cold-blooded murderer, I’ll eat my hat
. He shook the man’s hand without reservation.
It might taste better than the meat loaf, anyway
.

“Jake Creed.” He’d repeated the lie so often it didn’t strike him as false anymore. Jacob Granger didn’t exist anymore—traded his family and birthright for a chance to hunt a killer. Jake Creed, the hunter whose belief in justice drove him all the way to Colorado, took Granger’s place the moment he left home.

“Glad ta meet ya, Creed. I like the sound of that … Creed. Most folks call me Clump. Ain’t noble-sounding like yours, but it serves well enough.” He shrugged. “Sure you aren’t interested in catching the train in an hour and heading up to Hope Falls? We can sneak a peek at the women tonight and see what’s what.”

“Sounds like an adventure.” Jake slapped Clump on the shoulder. “I won’t join you, but I wish you all the best.”

“Train leaves in an hour if you change your mind.” Clump got to his feet, plunked some change on the table behind him, and—there was no other honest word for it—clumped toward the door. Black boots with some sort of heavy sole weighted the man’s gait to a distinctive series of thuds. “And if you don’t, I hope someday you’ll find the woman of your dreams, Creed.”

The sudden image of tawny eyes filled with laughter made Jake shake his head.
Not for me
. The comely cook with her mouthwatering dishes and saucy smile could take her pick of men.
I’d have a better chance with one of the hatchet-faced, bucktoothed wantwits who placed this advertisement!

He eyed the ridiculous thing one last time. A sour smell from the meal buried beneath it made the cream Jake had swallowed in his coffee curdle in his stomach.
A sad day
, he mused,
when a man finds himself plenty of time to kill—and no murderer near at hand to make the work fulfilling
.

The doors to the diner swung open with the sort of shrill creak to make anyone within hearing distance wince. Since Jake now claimed the dubious honor of dining entirely alone, he ignored
the sound and focused on the man edging his way into the room.

A slow, nervous shuffle, empty sack bumping against his shins every step, chin tucked low against his chest as he moved in a straight line toward the kitchen in the back, the man’s posture screamed that he had something to hide—or something to tell.

Jake’s feet hit the floor the instant he recognized the man. An instant before the barkeep’s eyes widened and his pace picked up in a bid to reach the kitchen before Jake reached him.

Not something to tell, then
. Too late. Jake blocked the broader man’s path long before his quarry could hope to evade him. He set himself a wide stance and waited while the nervous barkeep eyed the rest of the room. Once. Twice, to make sure no one else could be watching. Or listening.

The other man relaxed enough to offer a smile as watered down as the whiskey Jake had watched him serve earlier. “I see you found the Down ‘n’ Out Diner. Hadn’t thought to run into you here.” Another swift glance around the abandoned place finished the thought—he hadn’t expected to run into anyone here.

“I’d never passed through Durango before—didn’t know the local spots.” Which, of course, translated to:
didn’t know to avoid the Down ‘n’ Out Diner
. “You come here for lunch?” Jake’s raised eyebrow left little room for misinterpretation. Having sampled the fare, he knew no sane man would eat here.

“Meat loaf day.” A grin broke out across the man’s face. “Best sober-up in the world is to force a man to swallow Bert’s meat loaf. I stock up on it every week, and let it be known.”

“Less trouble on meat loaf day.” Jake didn’t ask. One glance at his newspaper-covered plate reminded him full well what lay beneath it. The threat might well make men less apt to break saloon rules. “You can have the piece under there.”

“Not just meat loaf day.” The man snagged the piece from beneath the paper and shoved it into the sack. “Strangest thing about Bert’s meat loaf. Keeps same as the day he made it for as long as I’ve seen. Same sort of bouncy feel but turns white around
the edges and darker yellow in the middle. Of course”—he leaned closer as though unwilling to offend a potentially eavesdropping Bert—“smells even worse the longer it sits.”

“Glad to give you an extra helping.” Jake spared a moment to hope it didn’t end any young miner’s life. “Now that we’re out of sight of prying eyes, what say we talk business?”

“All right, but seems to me you already got—”

“Man goes by Twyler. Average height, brown hair, brown eyes. Would’ve come through here earlier this week.” Jake patted his pocket meaningfully. “Any information you could give me would be well rewarded. Especially where he headed next.”

“Wish I could tell you something you don’t already know.” The barkeep gave a gusty sigh and gestured toward the paper he’d nudged aside. “But you already saw the ad, so you know about as much as I do. Every stranger who’s come through these parts and not stayed to mine has gone on to Hope Falls, you see.”

“Have any stayed on who fit the description?” He shoved aside the idea Twyler would answer the ad. No self-respecting criminal would follow such a ludicrous course. “Well-spoken sort of man, more educated. Even if he went by another name?”

“Miners come through here all the time, but it’s hard work. They’re either experienced in mining or they quit in a minute. Someone well spoken and educated would stick out like a sore thumb, and I’d remember him.” He gave a shrug. “Best tip I can give you is to go on and try Hope Falls, mister.”

Frustration closed Jake’s throat.
Twyler won’t go to a logging camp to win a bride. It’s a fool’s mission, and no fool got the better of my brother and evaded me this long. I can’t expect to find him there
. He cast a fulminating glare at the paper, the benighted ad mocking him as the know-nothing barkeep sidled around him and into the kitchen. No help there.

It’s a dead end. I pack it up and go home in defeat, as good as admitting Edward’s a cowardly cheat, or I head to Hope Falls. Maybe someone there will know something worth hearing
.

“Seems to me it’d be a good place to lose yourself if someone was searching.” The barkeep bustled back through, sack bulging and a sly smile stretching his face. “No one would think to follow a man on such a goose chase. Might be just the thing.”

“That’s—” Jake swallowed the word “harebrained.”
So out of the norm it might work—just the sort of thing Twyler might do
. “An interesting notion. Thanks for those observations of yours.” He tossed the man a token of his gratitude as he headed for the door, not bothering to acknowledge the man’s thanks.

The barkeep—and the sour stench of ‘meat loaf’ more powerful than should be legal—followed him out the door and down the street a ways. Other people, spotting the sack and obviously knowing what it meant, gave them wide berth.

Morbidly fascinated in spite of himself, Jake had to know one last thing before he left Durango in the dust and boarded Clump’s train: “Ever killed anyone with that meat loaf?”

     EIGHT     

I
think I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

The groan following the statement sounded anything but heavenly as Evie wrapped the intruder on the knuckles with her wooden spoon. Hard.

At least this one didn’t yelp like number three, or howl like two and four. Compared to those, the groan sounded downright manly. Or, at least, the manliest of the four. The first troublemaker didn’t count—Naomi actually gave the swindler a biscuit, setting off the entire problem of loggers popping into the kitchen like so many hopeful ground squirrels.

“No fair!” A distinct note of wheedling entered the fellow’s voice while he backed away with one eye on Evie’s spoon and one eye on the biscuits. “Kane got one.”

“My mistake!” Naomi rushed forward, wringing her hands. “I didn’t know the rules of the kitchen, you see, and he asked so nicely, and I didn’t realize it would mean all of you would come filing through, wanting to eat before mealtime. I’m so sorry!”

“Don’ you be frettin’, lassie.” The sixth sniffing hopeful poked his head around the door frame. This time Evie recognized the huge redhead. A man of his size couldn’t help but make an
impression. “Not a one of us have eaten anythin’ halfway decent in at least a week, and it’s been a good sight longer than that for most. Keeping a dozen strapping men away from a kitchen smelling so fine as this would take a minor miracle.”

“Please, missus.” Sensing which woman would be weakest to his plea, Number Five zeroed his smile in on Lacey. “I won’t tell none of the other guys iff’n you can see your way to sparing another one of them biscuits. You can trust ole Dodger.”

“Dodger, you need to learn to take a lady’s first answer.” The redheaded giant’s rumble inspired a flash of alarm, swiftly replaced by determination once Dodger looked at the biscuits one more time and took a deep breath. “I’ll leave with you.”

“You leave, Bear. I’ll keep the ladies company.”

“We don’t have room for company. We’ve work to do!” Evie’d gotten caught up watching the byplay for long enough. It was time to reclaim her kitchen. “No men are allowed in my kitchen unless by express invitation. Spread the word, please. Mr. Dodger, I’m a businesswoman, so I’ll make you a deal. You’re more than welcome to take a biscuit with you on your way out the door.” She saw his face light up as he edged toward his prize. She also noticed that the one he called Bear stayed in the doorway, arms folded, shaking his head.
Smart man, that one
.

“Hear the lady out before you take the bargain, Dodge.” His warning cemented her good impression of his intelligence.

“What?” Dodger froze, hand hovering over the biscuits, where he’d been trying to decide which looked largest. “She said I could have one, so I’ll take one. That’s the deal, ain’t it?”

“That’s the first part. You see, it’s a choice I’m offering you.” Evie saw Cora’s grin as she nudged Naomi with her elbow. “You may take one biscuit now, or you can have supper later this evening. Whichever decision you make, you abide by.”

“Or supper?” Dodger asked it the first time. At the round of nods, he exploded.
“Or
supper, she says! I’m not trading an entire supper for one measly biscuit. That ain’t fair.”

“Neither is you getting something the other men don’t.” Evie pointed toward the door with her spoon. “Now that you’ve made your choice, I’ll be happy to see you at the supper table. If you’d kindly extend my offer to the others, we can be through with these interruptions once and for all, I’d assume.”

“We’ve been dismissed, Dodge, me-boy.” The redhead reached into the kitchen and snagged the smaller man’s shoulder. “Let’s not hold up that fine supper any longer.” With a surprisingly boyish grin, he hauled a still-spluttering Dodger out of the café. “And we’ll be sure to pass along the message, ma’am!”

Ma’am, he called me
. Evie couldn’t help but notice that the first man who caught her eye called her “ma’am” but reserved the more appealing and feminine “lassie” for Naomi.
I should expect more of that. Lacey’s so pretty and lighthearted, the men will swarm around her. The only reason she’s not already wed is she wanted more adventure than becoming a society wife
.

She chopped carrots while she evaluated the situation.
After Lacey’s taken her pick, the men will look to Naomi and me. Naomi first—she’s more soft-spoken and would make a better bride than I would
. The mound of carrots grew before her, the series of chops busying her hands and giving ease to her heart as she confronted the plain truth with no frosting.
Not to mention her trim figure. I’m too bossy and loud and plump. I’ll be the last of the women left to hire her husband. So as long as there are three I could live with, things will be all right
.