This Gun for Hire (16 page)

She nodded. “Nothing feels quite right anymore. I haven’t fired a weapon since I arrived, and I can’t see that there will be an opportunity to do so. That’s not good. I need to stay sharp. I need to know I’m sharp.”

“I understand.”

“I don’t think you do. How did you follow me? I was careful. I stepped in tracks made by other people. You shouldn’t have been able to find me, and yet you did. Here I am, and somehow I’ve lost my way.”

Quill let a moment pass and then said quietly, “Whose tracks did you imagine you were stepping in, Calico?”

Her eyes widened. “
Yours?
”

He shrugged, nodded. “I do understand.” He stood and extended his hand. “Let me help you up.”

Calico hesitated, but in the end she placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet. “Thank you.” When he released her hand, she shook loose the kinks and
frozen joints. She crossed her arms, slapped her shoulders, and jumped in place.

Quill picked up her blanket, rolled it, and when she turned around, he strapped it to her back. “You travel light. I usually bring a couple more blankets than this. Do you have a flask?”

She shook her head. “I don’t own one.”

“Luckily I do. Better yet, I brought it.” He reached in his wool coat and pulled out a silver flask. “This is Ramsey’s best whiskey, so enjoy it.” He opened it and handed it to her.

Calico put the flask to her lips, tilted it, and took a deep pull. The whiskey was warm in her mouth and still warmer as it slid smoothly to the pit of her stomach. “That
is
good.” She pressed her lips together to contain the heat. “Mmm.”

“Have another,” he said when she would have returned the flask.

She did. “Thank you.” This time he took it from her and slipped it back in his coat. “You’re not having any?” she asked.

“One of us should be sober on the trek back, and I noticed you didn’t eat much at dinner. You’re going to feel it.”

“Unlikely. I was raised on it. Mother’s milk.”

Quill was skeptical and it showed. “Bravado? Exaggeration? A good bit of both, I’d say.”

“Actually, not much of either. Apparently I was a colicky baby.”

“Oddly enough, I have no trouble believing that.”

Calico jabbed him with her elbow, not hard, just enough to let him know she was alert and listening.

“Come on. Let’s go.” He turned and started off, and she fell into step beside him.

“Why were you awake?” she asked.

Quill glanced sideways at her. “I was puzzling out the problem of Ramsey’s Number 1 mine. I think the men are loosely organized, but if there is a leader, I haven’t been able to identify him, and I believe if there were a leader, the men would be better organized.”

“You mentioned a name. George . . . George . . .” She shook her head. “No. I can’t bring it up.”

“George Kittredge.”

She held up her right hand and snapped her fingers, or rather she tried. “It’s the gloves.”

“Uh-huh. About Mr. Kittredge . . . he has been working for Stonechurch Mining for eighteen years. He remembers when Ann was born, how proud and excited Ramsey was at the time, and what a celebration there was that night. Drinks all around, that sort of thing. It’s the kind of story a man might share if he wants to prove his loyalty or point out a personal connection.”

Quill stopped, lifted a low bough out of the way, and let Calico pass under it before he followed. “Mr. Kittredge is in charge of the crew that lays down explosives. He got his experience during the war, blowing up bridges, rails, and munitions strongholds. He wiggled all ten of his fingers at me as proof that he is good at his job. Came west with the railroad and ended up here. He seems settled, has a wife, children. I don’t take him for someone who likes to stir the pot.”

“So he is not a candidate for organizing the men.”

“No, but I think he suspects something is going on. He hedged, wouldn’t say anything straight out, and I mostly listened. He mentioned that he’s been having problems with the explosives. Orders not filled properly. Damaged fuses. Wet dynamite. He says he complains, things get better for a time, and then the problem comes around again.”

“That would go a ways to explaining why the vein isn’t delivering the ore Ramsey expects, but wouldn’t there be problems at the other mines? I would think they would order all the explosives from the same place.”

“I asked him why he doesn’t borrow what he needs from another crew at another mine. That’s when I learned he and his men are the only ones working with explosives. It’s been that way for a long time. They go from mine to mine as needed, and right now the Number 1 mine is the only one requiring a fire in the hole.”

“Do the explosives arrive damaged or are they damaged in storage?”

“I don’t know. Kittredge stopped talking. He got skittish as he went on. Started to think better of what he was saying.”

“But you said he’s complained. Someone must know.”

“I said that
he
says he complained. He sounded credible, but I don’t know who he reported it to, and if I ask too many times, or ask the wrong people, it will get around. No one will speak to me, or if they do, it will be hard to trust what they say.”

“Have you told Ramsey?”

“No. That’s what I was trying to puzzle out.”

“It’s his company. Seems as if it’s something he should know.”

“Yes, well, it’s not entirely his company. Beatrice owns half, remember?”

“I’m not sure why that’s important.”

“It’s important because she has an interest even if she doesn’t put her hand in day to day. She leaves the decision making to him, but she pays attention to the operation. She asks questions. I know because I’ve been in the room when she’s come to Ramsey on one matter or another. She has a distinctive perspective on Stonechurch Mining. The operation is personal for both of them, but Beatrice has a different view of the men working for them. She knows the miners by name, knows their families, knows whose wife is going to have a baby and whose father is ill. She visits men who have been injured. She makes sure their families are cared for. Ramsey supports the school, but she knows the children. He gives money to the library, but she heads the committee that chooses the books.”

Calico said, “I’m realizing I don’t know her at all. I was aware that the shopkeepers were happy to see her, but I assumed that was at least in part because she spent money with them. I observed she spoke to everyone who came in and out of the stores, but I didn’t realize she was as familiar with the miners.”

“Did you know that she visits the mines more often than Ramsey?”

“She’s never mentioned it.”

“Probably because she’s been doing it for so long that it’s a matter of routine to her. Maybe a couple of times a month. She takes things when she goes. Breads and cakes. Little sandwiches that you would expect to have at tea. Jellies and jams. Bandages. Liniments. Salves. Woolen socks. Gloves. The men flock to her.”

Calico tugged on Quill’s coat at the elbow, stopping him in his tracks. She stared at him, looking for the lie. “Little sandwiches?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “Truly?”

“Truly. I swear. The miners love them.”

Shaking her head, Calico released his coat. They began walking again. “She is not precisely as she seems, is she? I am appreciating that about her.”

“It is not making too much of it to say that the men adore her.”

“And you think she is sympathetic to them.”

“I’m not certain she would be in favor of me digging into this matter too deeply. Ramsey hasn’t shared his suspicions with her.”

“I think I understand why, but the company’s losses are her losses, too.”

“There is no denying that. What is less clear is how much she would care about it. I’m not suggesting that she would be complacent if the company was facing bankruptcy, but that’s not the case here. The losses are small compared to the gains. She might find it acceptable if she thought the men had something to gain.”

Calico was quiet for a long time, then, “No wonder you were awake.”

“Hmm.”

Calico stopped as they broke through the trees, reluctant to return in spite of the cold. She stamped her feet.

“Do you want another drink?”

She shook her head. “How often do you go out at night?”

“Since you’ve been here, only once. Before then, every three or four days if I could. Never less than once a week.
I’m surprised you tolerated the indoors for as long as you have, unless this is not your first time?”

“No, this is the first I’ve wandered off.” When he started to go, she said, “Not just yet. I have a question.”

“It can’t wait?” When her expression clearly communicated it could not, he said, “Go ahead.”

“What about Ann? Does she never accompany Beatrice to the mines?”

“No, never. Not that I’m aware.”

“Hmm.”

“What are you thinking?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure. I can’t decide if it’s odd or understandable.”

“Why odd?”

“Beatrice dotes on Ann. It seems it would be in her nature to invite Ann to join her. Then again, perhaps Beatrice has asked her and Ann has not wanted to go.”

“Or, and this seems equally likely, Ramsey forbids it.”

“Why would he do that?”

Her genuine confusion made him chuckle. “You do realize that it is your upbringing that is out of the ordinary, don’t you?”

Calico bristled. “I don’t know why you would say that.”

Quill stared at her, trying to make out her features in the darkness. Finally, he said, “I can’t tell if you’re serious.”

“What is extraordinary about being raised to care for myself, tolerate those who are different from me, and expect folks to behave like they have some sense?”

This time Quill’s chuckle was absent of humor. “Everything about that seems extraordinary. My brother believes the Lord will provide, my mother’s tolerance is limited to people who agree with her, and my minister father expects folks to behave as if Satan’s whispering in their ear.”

“I can’t tell if you’re serious,” she said, echoing him.

“Oh, I assure you I am. And if Ramsey doesn’t want his daughter associating with the miners, who can be rough and unruly as the mood strikes them, it’s not the most
unreasonable thing he’s ever done. He would stand with society on this one, and you would stand alone. Well, mostly alone.”

Calico was unconvinced. “If you say so.”

“Do you really want to argue about it now?” He swore the shudder that went through her shook the ground under his feet. It was answer enough. “Stubborn woman. Come on.”

It was when they reached the relative warmth of the kitchen that Calico felt the full effects of the whiskey. She swayed on her feet as Quill nudged her into the room. “Ooh.” She put a hand out to steady herself and found the table.

Quill stopped her from pulling out a chair by putting his hands on her waist and moving her toward the back stairs. “Mother’s milk,” he said under his breath. “I don’t think so. You’re drunk.”

“Am not.”

“
Sh.
Whisper.”

“Am not,” she repeated, this time quietly.

Quill decided the better course was not to call her a liar. He unstrapped the blanket roll from her back and stayed close behind her as they climbed the stairs. With a little physical guidance and some prompts in her ear, he managed to get Calico inside her room without anyone else coming out of theirs.

Calico removed her hat and tossed it behind her. Quill caught it, leaving her to cross the room unassisted. Spinning around with more grace in her mind than in reality, Calico collapsed backward on the bed. “Ooh.” She blinked rapidly and pressed her fingertips to her temple. “I should not have done that.”

Rolling his eyes, Quill dropped her Stetson on the trunk lid and then went around the bed to where she was sprawled on top of it. Her splayed legs were hanging over the side. “Boots first,” he said, and hunkered down.

“I can do that.”

“Uh-huh.” He pulled them off and set them gently on the floor. “Socks on or off?”

“Off.”

Quill removed them and dropped them inside her boots. He pulled off his gloves, stuffed them in his pockets, and then rubbed each of her feet between his hands. When he judged they were warm enough, he tugged on her little toes to see if she was still awake.

“Hey,” she said. “Why’d you do that?”

“Because I could.” He took her by the ankles and lifted her legs as he stood, then he shifted her ninety degrees so she was lengthwise on the bed instead of crosswise. This had the effect of twisting her duster so he leaned over and began unbuttoning it. She slapped at his hands, not hard, but just to let him know she was protesting. He ignored her. Once he had wrestled the jacket off, he removed her gloves and warmed her hands as he had warmed her feet. He thought she might have sighed, but because she was Calico Nash, he thought it was just as likely that she had sworn at him. Shaking his head, he yanked the blankets from under her, pulled them over her, and tucked her in.

He thought her eyes were closed, but when he finished, she was looking at him. “Warm enough?”

“Mm.” She tugged on the covers until they were at her chin. “Toasty.”

Quill could not tell if her smile was sleepy or drunken. Probably a little of both, he decided. “I’m going to see to the fire.” He turned to go, but she caught him by the hand. “What is it?”

“I don’t know.” And she didn’t. She felt oddly disconnected from her thoughts. They tumbled, flitted, but she could neither follow one nor catch it when it landed. “Will you sit with me?”

Quill’s eyes shifted from her to the chair. “Let me take care of the fire first.”

Calico was slow to release his hand, and when she did, she felt bereft. To see him better, she rose up on her elbows and stayed that way while he stirred the fire and added wood. It seemed to her that he remained there overlong, staring at his handiwork, but eventually he turned and came to the bed. It was only when he was standing beside her that she realized she had been holding her breath.

“If you like, I can move that chair closer to the bed,” he said.

She lay back again and smoothed the blankets. “No. Leave it there.”