Sweet Boundless (33 page)

“You smell somethin’?” One squint-eyed man sprawled in his chair, his arm dangling down the back.

The man across from him made a show of sniffing the air. “Smells like dago.”

Carina’s breath hitched, and she stopped, tray suspended. She had heard the word before, but not in Crystal, at least not in her presence.

“Sure does.” The lumpy man crowded the table. “You suppose they got dagos in Crystal?”

The first man snorted. “Got dagos everywhere. Like rats. They move in and breed.”

Her breath came out hard. They hadn’t looked at her, but she knew every word was directed her way. Then the speaker did look at her, and she saw a calculated cruelty she recognized all too well. Her heart hammered furiously. It was not only for herself that she seethed, but for Lucia, who stood frozen some few steps away, and for all the Italian people. Such ugliness had no place in her restaurant.

One step brought Carina beside the squinty man. “Get out.”

“What’s that?” His head lolled to the side insolently.

“I said, get out.”

He curled a lip at his companions. “You hear that? She’s mindin’ my business.”

With every ounce of restraint, she resisted dumping the soup on his head. “Get out of my restaurant.”

“You telling me what to do? Need to learn your place . . . dago woman.” In his tone, in his face, was a taunt, a direct challenge.

Carina started to shake. The ugliness of it appalled her, but she held her ground, burning them with her eyes, never flinching. She felt motion and saw that Joe Turner and Alex Makepeace had come to stand behind her. Whatever their frustrations with her, they were her friends. A quick glance to the sides showed Ben Masterson and Horace Fisher also standing. As she watched, every man in the room rose to his feet.

Her chest swelled, and she returned her fiery gaze to the miscreant. “Get out.”

The man did a quick peruse, then sneered. “Dago princess has them all by the—”

A flick of her wrist and the minestrone bowls slid from her tray, scalding down the side of his face, into his lap, and crashing to the floor. He jumped up with a yell and lunged.

Ben Masterson caught him around the chest. “Got no more than you deserved, mister. Clear out and don’t come back.”

Carina felt a hand grip her arm. It was Alex holding her steady. Did he think she would fly at the man like a cat? Or did he show her with that simple gesture that he was there for her?

“You’ll pay for this!” The burned man swiped his hand down his face.

The other three scrambled up as Masterson released their friend. Together they stormed out, kicking table legs and shoving chairs as they went. Carina stood shaking. She shouldn’t have burned him. Èmie would never have burned him. She turned to Alex Makepeace. “Do you know who he is?”

“I have my guess.”

“He works for one of the mines?”

“A number of consolidateds.”

So Alex had tried to catch her eye, to warn her to tread carefully. “Why was he here?”

The men had returned to their seats. Alex led Carina to the hall. “He was here to stir things up, to bring public opinion against you. He didn’t know how your diners feel about you. He miscalculated.”

“Why would he want to turn people against me?”

Alex said nothing.

“It’s because of the families, isn’t it? Because I brought aid to the families.”

“It’s not as simple as it seems,” he said.

“I know I’ve caused you trouble. I never meant to.” She looked into his face, hoping he understood.

His brown eyes softened, and he smiled. “I know that.”

“What happens now?”

Alex shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“I shouldn’t have burned him.”

He rubbed the side of his neck. “It’s like the mayor said—he had it coming.”

She didn’t argue, but her heart convicted her. She’d returned evil for evil. Would she never learn?
Dio, have patience with me
. Èmie came into the hall carrying the broken bowls on the tray. Carina looked at the wreckage. What a waste, for one moment of revenge. Had she changed their minds? Made them respect her? Had she brought any resolution to an already tense situation?

Alex rubbed his beard. “Forget it, Carina.”

Like everything else she was supposed to put out of her mind. “Thank you for standing with me.”

He touched her hand briefly. “I’d have been outnumbered if I hadn’t.”

She smiled, thinking of the men standing up in support. How had she won their hearts so soon after Crystal would have hung her? It warmed her, but she knew too well how capricious the sentiments could be.

Alex lay awake with more than the hard, narrow cot and lumpy pillow to blame. His thoughts whirled. He knew all too well how ugly things could get when factions started warring. The miners demanding their dues; the owners refusing demands that would ruin them or, at the least, alienate their investors.

The men here running the operations were the ones in the worst spot, obligated to those who’d put up monies back east, pressed to turn greater and greater profits or see the operation scrapped, and then where would the miners be? Not dead. Images of the crushed and mangled bodies they’d pulled from the collapsed drift filled his mind.

None had survived. It was a toxic gas pocket that had exploded. Those not crushed by the debris . . . Alex shook his head. But they all knew the risks they took when they descended the shaft. Carina’s sympathy had been for the women and children. Maybe if he hadn’t been raw himself from watching one corpse after another being brought out, he would have refused.

But he doubted it. He wouldn’t refuse Carina anything. He’d kept secret the cave that could yield untold treasures. And he’d stood with her tonight against the thugs. Next time it could be himself he was defending. Other miners were demanding aid for their families. No injury seemed too small now that the door was opened. They were using the deaths at the New Boundless as fuel for their fire. And the owners were adamant against them.

Those men tonight had been a warning. Not just to Carina, but to him as well. James Mires was running scared, and God only knew what correspondence he was sending back to Harrold and Sterk. Alex would likely be removed by spring. And all because he couldn’t say no to another man’s wife.

Was that it? Was God punishing him for wanting what wasn’t his? Coveting another man’s wife?
I’ve not done anything wrong. Not once
touched her unchastely. Not spoken one word of my feelings
. Yet he’d let her color his judgment. Perhaps cost him his job, his career.

He rolled to his back and stared at the ceiling. He was a moral man. He followed God’s tenets. If this was a chastisement for impure thoughts and desires, so be it.
Well, Grandmother, I’ve landed in it
now. What would you say about this one?
But he knew what she’d say. He should have kept out of it altogether. He drew a slow breath and sighed. What sleep he found tonight would not be peaceful.

At the crash, Carina jolted up, wondering if the small shattering sound had been in her dream or was real. If it were real, it must have come from the dining room, for her own room was still and dark. She groped for a candle and lit it. Threading her finger into the tin loop of the holder, she slipped out of bed and made for the door to the hall.

What could have slipped in the night? She pictured the three painted china plates she had stood on the mantel of the fireplace for their ornamentation alone. She jumped when another crash came from the darkened room, then hurried down the hall to the doorway.

Her candle illuminated the mantel, and she saw at once the missing plates and the fragments on the hearth and tile. How had they fallen? A chill ran up her spine. Had the ghosts of the Carruthers . . . No, she stopped that thought before it scared her further. How, then? The one remaining plate seemed steady enough in the groove Joe Turner’s men had cut there. She stooped and picked up the central part of one fallen plate with its beautiful floral design shattered. What had . . .

She heard a whoosh, and burning pain shot through her back at the blow. Carina screamed even as the second blow took her knees from behind. She fell. The candle sputtered and went out, and in the darkness she thrashed, screaming, as blow after blow sent fire through her body. Instinctively she curled but was kicked about until she had no control.

Something struck the side of her head. It seemed there were gunshots, but maybe the blows had broken open her skull. Her ears throbbed, and she vomited blood. There were shouts, but she didn’t hear them clearly, then a gust of cold. Blood filled her throat again and she retched. Then she felt the hot fluid run down her legs.

“No . . .” she moaned once.

Arms grasped her. “Carina.”

She knew him. Alex Makepeace. With another moan, she sank against his chest.

Voices. Darkness. A sweet smell. The taste of blood, and an ache inside worse than the dull throbbing of her body.

“How bad is it?” Mae’s voice.

Gruffly, Dr. Felden: “She lost the baby.”

Mae’s voice, startled. “The baby?”

Carina tried to argue.
No, the baby’s fine
.

“It appears her husband stayed long enough for that.” A clink of instruments.

But he doesn’t know. When he learns about the baby, he’ ll stay; he’ ll
love me
.

Mae spoke thickly. “Will she have another?”

“I’m not a fortune-teller.” Water splashing and sloshing.

“Will she live?”

“It depends on the internal bleeding. Now that I know there was a baby, I don’t believe it’s as extensive as I first thought.”

Mae, softly: “I’ll sit with her now.”

The door closed with a click. Carina wanted to call him back, to tell him he was wrong. She wanted to feel the baby inside her, to know that what she hoped for could still be.
Dio! Signore! Per piacere,
Signore. My baby. My baby
.

In the fading light of dusk, Quillan rubbed his grainy eyes and slipped through the doors of the livery. He’d pushed his team hard to make Crystal before nightfall, and he had slept little for more nights than he could recall. He’d been driven by his need, the need for his wife, the need to see her, speak with her, tell her the things he’d learned, promise her . . . what? That he’d be the husband she wanted him to be? Could he?

He sure meant to try. The full wagon of things from the Italian market was just one proof of that. Quillan rubbed a hand over his face and searched the dim horse-smelling enclosure. He’d pushed himself hard. He was cold, saddle weary, and dragging almost as badly as his horses and his dog. But he was home.

Maybe. If she’d have him. Crystal could be home. Anywhere with Carina could be home. “Alan?” At least the old ostler would be pleased with his decision. He could honestly tell him this time he planned to stay.

Alan Tavish came forward with a lantern, but his expression was not what Quillan expected. “Ah, boyo. Sit there.” He pointed to a barrel beside the stall.

Quillan sat, too weary to argue, and blew on his wind-chapped hands. It was better he catch his breath before he went to Carina anyway. He ought to wash and change as well. He needed a shave or at least a trim of his winter beard.