Savage Heat (7 page)

Feeling a squeezing pain in his heart, General Kidd shook his head wearily and started back inside. But an arriving messenger stopped him.

Brigadier General William J. Kidd had been ordered to Washington on the next train leaving Denver.

The Darlington ballroom was undoubtedly one of the grandest in the state. Regina Darlington took great pride in the huge white ballroom with its hand-carved pine Corinthian columns, crystal chandeliers, and white marble fireplace. The room, covering the entire back of the mansion, was one hundred feet long and sixty feet wide. The ceilings were twenty feet high, and a half-dozen sets of tall French doors opened onto a long, wide stone gallery that overlooked back gardens and well-tended lawns sweeping toward the edge of the property where tall firs and aspens and cedars became the forested mountain.

The Darlington home was located on the highest inhabited point in the west Denver foothills. From its lofty heights far above the sprawling city, those inside enjoyed total privacy and seclusion. From the mansion’s large drawing room and banquet-sized dining room, it was possible to see every twinkling light of Denver, to feel the city’s life and energy.

The rear ballroom offered quite a different experience. Guests dancing there felt as though they were truly high up in the remote mountains, and more than one elegantly gowned lady, taking the air on the stone veranda, had squealed delightedly as a white-tailed fawn skittered across the lush yards.

Coyotes howled plaintively from out of the dense woods, and bobcats, their sleek coats flashing in the sunlight, chased frightened antelope within sight of the house. And more than once Colonel Thomas Darlington, enjoying a late-night smoke alone on the stone porch, had seen the unmistakable gleam of a panther’s eyes, though he never shared that information with his wife or their guests. He did caution against couples strolling too far from the well-lighted house at night.

At a quarter before nine, Regina Darlington, gowned in vivid lavender faille, swept down the winding marble staircase, diamonds glittering at her throat and wrist and falling in long, swaying showers of light from her delicate earlobes. Her new Paris gown was scandalously low and daring, its déolletage barely concealing the large nipples of her full breasts, which were purposely pushed high by a tight, torturing corset she endured for beauty’s sake. The long lavender skirt fitted like a second skin down to her knees, where the faille met heavily gathered lavender chiffon, the fluffy fabric swirling prettily about her feet.

Reaching the ground floor, Regina Darlington went at once to the first mirror, a ceiling-high gold-framed glass wiped spotless each day by industrious servants. She stood looking at herself, well pleased by what she saw. With a pink-nailed hand she smoothed the straining fabric covering her rounded bosom, then let her fingers glide down her rib cage to her hip.

She drew a deep breath, smiled at herself, and licked her wet red lips. A shiver of excitement ran up her spine. In less than an hour Jim Savin would be here, inside her home. He would see her at her loveliest in her opulent hillside mansion. Regina felt that her impressive home was but an expensive, tasteful frame for her fair beauty, and if there was ever a man she longed to have see her at her best, it was the mysterious, compelling Jim Savin.

She knew nothing of the man, nothing, other than the fact that he was an attorney who had read law at Harvard with the Kelley boy. He never talked of himself, and when she asked questions, his only response was a smile or a casual shake of his handsome head. More than once she had tried to find out exactly what business he had in Denver. Would he be remaining in the city indefinitely or was he just here for a short time? Did he plan to practice law in Denver? Was he looking to buy a home?

Satisfactory answers to her questions were never forthcoming, and Regina was afraid that on one of those occasions when she cautiously slipped up to the Centennial Hotel for an afternoon of ecstasy she would find him gone. For good.

The idea was devastating.

She’d had many lovers, before her marriage to Thomas Darlington, and after. But none could compare to Jim Savin. There was a barely submerged savage side to his nature that frightened and excited her beyond belief. At the same time there was a coldness, an uncaring attitude, that hurt her feelings yet intrigued her greatly as he must surely intrigue every woman he met.

The thought suddenly caused Regina to frown at her mirrored image. Young Martay Kidd was undeniably pretty, if somewhat too tall and slender. And Denver was buzzing about the Chicago girl’s unquenchable thirst for adventure. Would Martay behave like a rude, spoiled child and throw herself at the fascinating Jim Savin while her poor bewildered escort looked on helplessly?

“The brazen little bitch,” Regina said aloud. “How dare she come to my home and behave like a trollop. If she thinks she can lure a man as worldly as Jim Savin away from me, she’s another think coming!”

“What did you say, dear?” came Thomas Darlington’s voice from inside the vast ballroom.

Regina hurriedly put a sweet smile back on her face, turned toward the ballroom, and floated straight to her husband. Fussing with his black cravat, she told him, “I said some of our guests are now coming.”

“Oh, really?” Thomas Darlington drew the gold-cased watch from his pocket. “Perhaps you’re right. I have three minutes of nine.”

Regina had already stepped away from her husband. She gave the big room a sweeping inspection, needlessly rearranged a leafy palm resting in a tall Ming vase, checked to see that the gilt opera chairs were neatly lining all the walls, gave her upswept red hair a pat, and went forth to meet her guests.

It was twenty minutes past nine when the carriage transporting Martay and Lawrence Berton rolled to a stop on the circular driveway before the magnificent Darlington house. The melancholy Martay had experienced earlier was gone and she was her old self again. Ready to talk and laugh and dance and have a fabulous time.

To her surprised delight, Larry had been charming company on the short trip, neither pressuring her for kisses nor exclaiming over and over again how lovely she looked. He had, instead, held her hand warmly in his square freckled one and entertained her with amusing stories of his soldier’s life at Fort Collins. Wondering at the change in him, she listened attentively and thought that if he continued to behave in this new, more sophisticated fashion, she might grow to care for him.

Martay had no idea that her uncharacteristically composed escort had been counseled by her father. Stubbornly resolved to have his way, General William Kidd had carefully coached the major on how he should behave if he had any hopes of winning Martay’s heart.

“Son, you can’t go mooning about if you want her. Be a man. Be decisive. Be reserved. Hell, be distant, make her wonder. It’ll work. Women like that sort of thing, perverse creatures that they are.”

The major would have been amazed to know how well the advice had served. After the first awkward back-sliding moments when he’d walked into the Emersons’ house and seen the radiant Martay, Lawrence Berton had managed to behave as the general had instructed; and Martay, surprised, pleased, and puzzled, found him to be far more charming than he’d ever been before.

So by the time the couple arrived at the party, a composed Major Berton was sweeping a laughing Martay up the stone steps and into the glittering entryway. There they were met by beaming Regina Darlington and her husband, the colonel.

“So happy you could come,” trilled Regina. “We’re all going to have a lovely time tonight.”

7

J
im Savin reclined atop his bed at the Centennial Hotel. One lone lamp was burning, casting a circle of honeyed light over the polished mahogany table on which it rested and a portion of the deep, expensive carpet beneath. The light did not reach to the bed where Jim was lying. Stretched out on his back, one long arm folded beneath his head, he was smoking a thin black cigar in the darkness.

A nighttime quietness had descended over the big hotel. Many of the early-retiring guests had gone to their rooms as ten o’clock approached. An occasional carriage rolled by on the street below, the sounds of horses’ hooves striking pavement, wheels turning, and fleeting snatches of the occupants’ conversation drifting up on the thin, dry air and in through the open sixth-floor window.

Jim lay totally still except for the movement of his hand bringing the hot-tipped cigar back and forth to his lips. But he was far from relaxed. His long, lean body was as tightly coiled as a stalking panther’s, while his thoughts, as he stared at the ceiling, were as disciplined as a school marm’s as he clicked off in his mind all the arrangements that had been completed, and the steps of his master plan that remained to be carried out.

This morning he’d gone down to the Curtis Street stables and taken his horse; the one he had purchased his first day in Denver and had been training ever since. A big shiny black with heavy mane and tail. A powerful animal with prominent eyes, a sharp nose, small feet, and delicate legs. The beast, he had been told when he bought him, was tricky and dangerous, but could run like the wind and had unmeasured stamina.

Now the mount waited, high up on the mountainside, saddled and hidden in the darkness of the pine forest. Just six miles from where the stallion was tethered, inside a long-abandoned line shack, were the Navy Colt .45, the well-oiled Winchester rifle, blankets, food, candles; all he would need for the twenty-four-hour wait.

From the mantel across the hotel room, an E. Howard clock began its hourly chiming. Jim Savin waited. Waited until the ten rhythmic strikes had ended. When all was quiet once more, he reached over and carefully snubbed out the fire from his burned-down cigar, making sure each orange spark had cooled and completely died in the crystal ashtray. Only then did he rise from the bed.

Naked, he crossed the dim room.

A neatly pressed black tuxedo with satin lapels was draped over the mahogany valet. A snowy white shirt lay across a chair. Onyx studs were tossed carelessly atop a tall chest beside a pair of black patent-leather shoes. In the top drawer of that chest was one pair of gentlemen’s long black stockings and one set of white linen underwear.

The naked man suddenly stretched like a big, lazy cat. Going up on bare toes, he raised his long brown arms high up over his head and clasped his hands together. He stood there poised on his toes for a moment, then allowing his heels to sink back down to the soft carpet, he leaned back from the waist; way, way back, until he felt the tight muscles of his shoulders and belly and groin pulling tautly. Then in one quick fluid movement he brought his raised arms forward, bent from the waist, and touched his flattened palms to the floor directly in front of his bare brown toes.

Ten minutes later, impeccably dressed in fine evening clothes, Jim Savin stood downstairs at the cashier’s desk. A drowsy hotel clerk jumped down from his stool and hurried forward. While Jim drew a roll of bills from his trousers pocket, the thin-faced man said, “Mr. Savin, all your luggage has been shipped, just as instructed.” He cleared his throat needlessly and added, “We sure hate it that you’re checking out of the Centennial, we’ve enjoyed having you, sir. Catching the midnight train back east?”

Jim made no reply.

Smiling easily at the curious man, he counted out enough money to pay for his six weeks stay, added a generous gratuity for the staff, put the rest back into his pocket, and walked out into the night. Right on schedule a rented carriage rolled to a stop before the Tremont Street entrance of the Centennial, and Jim stepped into it. When the landau reached the western edge of town, Jim opened the tuxedo jacket, lounged back on his spine, plucked at the creases of his trousers, and stretched his long legs out before him.

It was just ten minutes past eleven o’clock.

“I sure hate this, Bill,” said Dolph Emerson, as the general placed the last of his personal belongings in the valise that lay open on the bed. “Martay will be so disappointed.”

“I know,” said William Kidd, “but I’ve no choice. I must leave for Washington tonight. President Hayes has called for a counsel of his top military advisers.”

“I see,” mused Dolph Emerson. “I had hoped that sharp fight Colonel Miles’s troops had up by Frenchman’s Creek last week would have scattered the hostiles.”

General Kidd gave a disgusted shake of his silver head. “Colonel Miles had a troop of the Seventh Cavalry, a company of the Fifth Infantry, and about fifty Indian scouts, and still only managed to kill a bare handful of the savages.” Again he shook his head. “Chased three or four hundred of them for twelve miles and then let the hostiles get away, north of the Milk River. They say old Sitting Bull and Gall were with them.” William Kidd ground his teeth viciously. “Instead of catching that midnight train east to Washington, I wish to hell I was mounting a horse to ride into the Dakotas.”

“Bill, don’t you think you’re getting a bit too old for Indian fighting?” said his friend.

For an instant William Kidd’s green eyes blazed with anger. “Too old? By God, I’ve never been in better shape in my life! I can still out-soldier any of these young pups and I … I …” His words trailed away, then he began to smile sheepishly. And he admitted, “You’ve heard this before.”

His old friend smiled warmly and laid a hand on General Kidd’s shoulder. “I have, my friend, and it’s the God’s truth. No finer soldier ever lived than you. But, Bill, you serve your country better by going to the White House to confer with President Hayes than by riding up into the Badlands.”

William Kidd sighed wearily. “I suppose.” He closed the valise and lifted it from the bed. “Now I must get to the station. You’ll look after Martay for me?”

“You know I will.”

Downstairs, Colonel Dolph Emerson walked his old West Point comrade outside into the hot, still night, where the family carriage was waiting to transport General Kidd to Union Station.

The two men shook hands in the moonlight, and General Kidd said suddenly, “I should never have allowed Martay to come out here.” Before Dolph Emerson could respond, the general had bounded up into the carriage and departed.