Behind His Blue Eyes (21 page)

In the gloom of the porch, he listened to her breathe. Smelled her flowery soap. Knew by the tear tracks on her cheeks that she had been crying.

This could be bad. Worse than California. Worse than anything he'd suffered so far. This could be the end of hope and the beginning of long, lonely years.

He took a deep breath, bent, and cupped her cheek. “Audra.”

Her eyes fluttered open.

He took his hand away and straightened, fists clenched at his sides. When he knew she was fully awake, he said, “I caused the deaths of three people.”

She sat so still he wasn't sure she heard him. “How?” she finally asked.

He told her about his design for a glass wall at the marine hospital, and how the board thought it was too risky, but he had insisted it would be safe—he was a certified architect, after all, and who would know better than he? “It took several weeks to get their approval, but eventually, I wore them down.”

“Go on.”

Memories buffeted him, but he held them off and stripped his voice of emotion so he could get the words out. “We were almost done when an earth tremor struck. The force of it shattered the panes. They fell. Three were killed.”

“Three patients.”

He shook his head, wondering what Bonet had told her. “Two workers and a nurse. There was damage in the hospital wards, too, but no patients were hurt.”

“What's an earth tremor?”

She was still listening, so he allowed himself to hope. After what he had gone through three years ago with the hospital administration, the architectural board, inquiries from various legal groups and newspapers, he wasn't sure how she would react. But she was hearing him out, which was more than most had. More than he'd expected. Or deserved.

“Tremors happen frequently in California. I'm not sure why. Some sort of upheaval deep in the earth makes the ground shake. This time it shook hard enough to destroy the top of a government building in San Mateo, as well as damage the marine hospital.”

“Did you do something to cause it?”

“The tremor? No, but—”

“Could you have prevented it?”

“No. I'd never been through a tremor, but I'd heard of them, and I should have taken the possibility of one occurring into consideration. I should have altered the design.”

“Why didn't you?”

Her interrogation was relentless. Each question coming on the heels of the previous one, and all drawing blood. “I was arrogant and headstrong. I wanted to build something revolutionary. Something that would be my legacy.”

“Why glass?”

“I thought it would bring comfort to the patients if they could see the ocean.”

She didn't respond. Other than when he'd awakened her, she hadn't moved since she began her questions. He couldn't read her expression, so he had no sense of what she was thinking, and her silence grew heavier with each heartbeat.

The breeze died and the crickets started. In the lane, Renny snorted, and farther in the canyon, a coyote called up his pack to hunt under the full moon.

He debated leaving. Walking away like he should have in the first place. He'd bared the deepest, darkest part of himself—she owed him some sort of response, didn't she? Still, he waited. Hoping. He didn't know what else to do.

Finally, when he'd about given up, she pushed aside her shawl and rose from the chair. Stepping close, she put her arms around him.

He was so shocked, he couldn't move.

“I'm sorry, Ethan,” she said against his neck. “Sorry for the people who died, and for what you've suffered because of a youthful mistake.”

“I was twenty-five. Old enough to know better.”

“And I'm sorry you felt you couldn't tell me,” she went on as if he hadn't spoken. As if she didn't notice how rigidly he held himself. “But you've tormented yourself long enough. Blame it on God. Blame it on the blindness of youth, or bad luck. But be done with it, Ethan. Put it behind you before it ruins your life.”

If only he could. Drawing back, he brushed a loose curl from her cheek so he could see her better. “And you, Audra? Can you put it behind you? Can you say what I've told you hasn't altered the way you see me?”

New tears glistened in the moonlight, but she was smiling. “Of course. Between us, nothing has changed. Except now, I know you a little better.”

Gratitude weakened him. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her close, his relief so profound he felt the sting of tears in his own eyes. “Thank you,” he said, and kissed her. Then kissed her again, his mouth open, his heart pounding, his body trembling like a school boy's.

When finally he lifted his head, they were both breathing hard.

“And anyway,” she said in a weak voice, “it's not as if we don't all have secrets or things in our pasts we're ashamed of.”

He had to laugh. “You? A shameful secret?”

“Why not? You think I can't do bad things?” She actually sounded offended that he might think otherwise.

“I can't even imagine it.”

With a huff, she pulled out of his arms and whipped open the door. “Wait here. I'll show you.” As she went inside, Phe rushed out, saw Ethan, and veered away to crouch by the rocker.

Ethan looked down at the wary dog. “How can you protect her if you're afraid of every man you see?” Hunkering on his heels, he held out a hand. “You'd best accept me,” he murmured. “I'll be coming around even more now.”

Eyes wary, Phe stretched her neck to sniff his fingers.

“That's a girl. Maybe if I win you, I can win her. What do you think?”

The door opened and Audra came out. “I couldn't find it. Probably misplaced it in the move. Would you like some coffee? I started a fresh pot.”

“Sure.” Ethan stood. “Couldn't find what?”

“Father's medallion. Come inside and I'll tell you how I cheated Richard Villars out of it.”

Twenty-one

B
ecause he didn't like being ordered around, Gallagher took his time finishing his drink. Then ordered another. As he sipped, he contemplated using the money the newspaper man had given him to buy a coolie whore for the night, but decided he was too drunk to get his money's worth.

“Finish up,” the barkeep said. “We're closing.”

Gallagher looked around and saw that the miners were gone and he was the only one left in the saloon. Muttering under his breath, he plunked his coins down on the counter and left, weaving slightly as he stepped out on the boardwalk.

The temperature had sunk with the sun, and the cool midnight air chased away some of the alcohol haze in his mind. He stood for a moment, vaguely remembering he was supposed to be going somewhere, then remembered Bonet told him to come to the newspaper office. But first, he needed to piss.

He stepped off the boardwalk, almost tripped, then stumbled into the narrow walkway between two buildings. Bracing a hand against the plank siding, he undid his trousers.

With a shiver of relief, he watched the steaming stream spatter against the wood then run down to soak into the dirt. It smelled rank and glinted like silver in the light of the full moon. Hell
,
maybe he should mine it. The thought made him laugh, until a sound by the boardwalk distracted him. He looked back.

A figure stood in the shadows, watching. A man, judging by the size of his bulky form. “Faith. Can't a fella take a piss?”

The man walked toward him.

Something hung from his hand. Something bulky that clinked. A chain?

“What do you want?” Gallagher stuffed himself back into his trousers.

The man kept coming, footfalls heavy. Unhurried. The chain clinking.

A sense of unease penetrated Gallagher's sluggish brain. He fumbled with the buttons, but it was too dark to see what he was doing. “
Feis ort.
Can't you see I'm busy here?” He turned.

Something struck the side of his head, slammed him against the wall. Pain stole his breath. Gasping, he slid down, hands clawing the planks for a handhold. Another blow across his back cracked ribs and drove the air from his lungs. He fell to his knees, moaning, blood running down his face. “Jaysus . . .
Cé thusa?
”

The man stepped closer.

Blindly, Gallagher threw his arm up to push him away.

A foot kicked out, smashing his teeth. Blood filled his mouth. Fingers gripped his hair, jerked his head back and stuffed a stinking rag so far into his mouth Gallagher gagged.

His hands moving so fast Gallagher couldn't get a hold on them, the man wrapped the chain around Gallagher's head and across the cloth prying open his mouth.

His mind splintering, Gallagher flailed, kicked, grabbed for the chain as it snaked around his shoulders, his arms, pinning his elbows to his sides. Then it was around his neck, the cold, hard links sticky with blood, crushing his throat as the man dragged him from between the buildings and into the street.

Gallagher arched, heels drumming, his lungs screaming for air. Hot, white light exploded behind his eyes.

Then faded . . .

When next he opened his eyes, it was dark. Cold. The full moon had dipped behind the trees, casting strange shadows across the ground. He tried to stop the slow spin, but couldn't move. Couldn't stop the pain. Didn't know why the world was off-kilter.

Then a burst of panic brought terrifying awareness. He was hanging by his feet, his arms tied behind his back. The rag was gone from his mouth, and every breath of cold air made the exposed nerves in his shattered teeth shriek in agony.

Twisting, he looked wildly around, and saw a man sitting on his haunches beside a smoldering fire, watching him.

Gallagher knew him. But it made no sense. Why was he smiling? Then he saw the knife in the man's hand and another burst of panic sent him into frenzied struggles.

His captor laughed.

Weakened by pain and loss of blood, Gallagher stopped fighting. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I can.” The man rose, walked toward him, the knife glinting in the firelight.

Fueled by terror, Gallagher bucked against the ropes. “Jaysus! Don't do this!”

The man stopped in front of him, stuck out a hand to stop the spinning. He bent down so their eyes were almost on the same level, and Gallagher saw madness in the dark gaze. Why had he never noticed it before?

“Man with a whip likes to give pain. Can you take it, too, I wonder?”

It took a moment for the threat to penetrate Gallagher's fogged brain. “No!” He twisted, tried to kick, bounced at the end of the rope. “They were lazy. They needed a push, is all. It was my job to keep them working!”

“Did you enjoy it, Irishman? Did you like to hear them cry and beg?” He laughed. “I'll admit, I do.” He made a sweeping motion with his free hand. “That's why I brought you way out here. So you can scream and cry and beg all you want, and nobody will hear you but me.” He raised the knife.

“They'll know it was you! They saw you in the Red Eye!”

“I left before you did.”

“Wait! Listen to me! I'll do whatever you want!” Weeping now, tears mingling with blood. “You want money? Someone killed? What? Tell me and I'll do it!”

The man hesitated, knife poised. “Can you stop the railroad? Send away their surveyors and woodcutters and yellow-bellied Celestials?”

“Oh, Jaysus . . .
le do thoil
 . . . please . . .”

“I thought not. They don't belong here. I keep telling them but they don't listen. Maybe they'll get the message when they see this.” The knife sliced down.

Gallagher screamed. And kept screaming for a long time.

* * *

Ethan reared back on one arm, heart pumping, his body thrumming with desire. “No.”

“Wh-What?”

“I can't do this.”

Audra blinked up at him through dazed eyes, her mouth swollen from his kisses. Her glorious hair spilled over the arm of the couch like a silky waterfall, showing glints of red and gold in the flickering light from the hearth, and the skin of her bared breasts was flushed to a rosy blush.

She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Sensuality put in human form. Everything a woman should be.

He was desperate to have her.

Here. Now. Forever.

“No,” he said again. With shaking fingers he pulled her lacy shift over her breasts and closed the placket on her blouse. Then he slumped back against the couch, an arm thrown over his eyes, his fists clenched as he struggled for control. He tried to focus his mind away from the scent and warmth of the woman beside him, the rapid sound of her breathing. Tried to think about snowstorms, cold baths, the nuns who had tried to beat the lessons of the catechism into him.

It didn't seem to help.

How had it gotten this far? It seemed only moments ago he had come in for a cup of coffee and her confession of her dark, shameful secret—which was little more than forging her father's signature so she could put food on the table—hardly on a par with causing the deaths of three people. Then suddenly, he was sprawled on top of her on the couch, fumbling with the buttons on his trousers.

The woman drove him senseless.

He felt movement beside him, but didn't open his eyes.

“No?” Audra said in a breathy whisper that almost undid him. “No . . . what?”

“No this. Now. Here. It's not right, Audra. You're a good woman.”

Another long pause. “I believe that's what I'm supposed to say.”

More movement, then her hand cupped his cheek, pulled his head around.

He opened his eyes to find her studying him, one dark brow arched, a smile teasing those swollen lips. “Are you a virgin, Ethan?”

“God, no.”

“Good. Perhaps I'm not, either.”

She didn't look it, not with her blouse gaping open and those round, soft breasts pushing against her thin shift. But her kisses had shown innocence, and her response had been tentative, then trusting, then eager. Just thinking about the way she'd risen to meet him made his pulse hammer. Maybe not all that experienced . . . but definitely a fast learner, God love her.

“That's not the point,” he said.

“Then what is the point?” Looking down, she began to button her blouse, that furrow he adored wrinkling her brow. “What's stopping you . . . us?”

“I don't want to be that man. The one who slips through your back door under cover of darkness and sneaks like a thief into your bed. You deserve better. And I want more.”

“From me?”

“Only from you.”

She laughed. It shocked him. Aroused him. Made him want to lay her down again. Prove something to both of them. He just wasn't sure what.

“Are you proposing marriage to me, Mr. Hardesty?”

Marriage?
“I . . . ah . . .” His throat closed up and he coughed to clear it.

She laughed again. “Relax, Ethan. I don't need marriage. Especially to an unproven man.”

Unproven?
Now he was offended. “What do you mean, ‘unproven'? I've proven lots of times.”

“Of course you have. I didn't mean it that way. But what if we . . . don't suit?”

How could she doubt it? “We'll suit. I'll make sure of it.” He was too well-mannered to point at evidence of how well she suited him.

“But how will we know for certain if I even like it if we don't . . . you know . . . give it a go?”

He was too shocked to respond.

“There's a saying about it, I think.” Tilting back her head, she stared thoughtfully up at the ceiling. “Something about riding a horse. Or maybe putting a pig in a poke. I don't recall.”

“Give it a go? Are you jesting?”

“Shh. You'll wake up the Abrahams. And if you give it some thought, you'll realize it's not an unreasonable idea. After all, I had to pass muster to secure a position at the
Herald
, didn't I?”

“That's not the same.”

“You're correct, of course.” Rolling her head toward him, she smiled. It was one of those “aha” smiles and instantly put him on guard. “I can always walk away from the
Herald.
But a marriage . . .”

He sat up. “Am I hearing you correctly? You want me to try out
as your lover? Just to make certain you like it and to prove to you that we'd be
compatible
enough for marriage?”

“You're yelling again.” She waved a graceful hand that only minutes ago had nearly driven him to the brink by sliding up the back of his neck to tangle in his hair.

He tugged at the knees of his trousers. “I am not yelling.”

“I'll grant you the idea is rather forward-thinking,” she went on. “But certainly promising enough to warrant further examination, don't you think? And if the experiment proves we don't suit, we can simply dissolve the association.”

“But you showed me your breasts!” Surely that meant something.

That laugh again. He was beginning to hate it. “Don't be absurd. They're just breasts. I'm sure you've seen dozens. Maybe hundreds. And I didn't
show
them to you. It was you who unbuttoned my blouse. Although I'm not complaining, mind you. For such a big man, you're quite gentle.”

“You're insane.”

“No, Ethan.” Her smile faded. She faced him again, and this time there was no laughter in her hazel eyes. “I'm practical. I'm a woman who has ordered her own destiny for several years now. I have an infirm father and two dear friends who are like family to me. Whoever marries me will have to accept the added responsibility for them. It's a heavy burden, and although I take it on gladly, it is not something I would thrust on someone else, especially a man I have come to admire as I do you.”

He didn't know how to respond to that.

“Besides,” she went on, stretching her arms over her head, drawing his gaze to those wondrous mounds she called “just breasts,” “I'm reconciled to the independent life I have chosen. I thrive on it. But that doesn't mean I wish to live without companionship.” Letting her arms fall back to her sides, she gave him a sweet smile. “In that respect, I feel we do suit. I enjoy your company. Your fine mind. Your honesty and humor. Given the chance, I might even enjoy your amorous attentions, too.”

Might even?
He was dumbfounded, unsure if he'd been complimented or insulted. It was a moment before he could gather wits enough to respond. “So you want me to-to . . .” he stammered, searching the proper word . . . “audition, as it were. And if I pass muster you'll consider marriage.”

“Exactly.” Resting a hand on his arm, she gave him a dazzling smile. “I'm sure you'll do wonderfully.”

He almost choked. “And how long will this audition last?”

She gave it some thought, one tapered finger tapping her now less-swollen bottom lip. “A month? Would that be enough time?”

“I wouldn't know. I've never done this. Audition, that is.”

“A month, then.” She finished buttoning her blouse and tucked it into the sashed waist of her skirt. “I'll leave the details to you—where, when, and so forth. And you'll be sure to get some of those things Dr. Power sells, won't you? I wouldn't want either of us forced into a marriage we might later regret.”

Ethan gaped. How did she know about Dr. Power's French Preventatives?

“Heavens, look.” She pointed toward the window, where the sky was brightening to a predawn gray. “It seems we've talked the night away.”

Taking that as his signal, he stood, still not sure what had happened. The woman confused the hell out of him.

She stood, too, and after fluffing her skirts, she checked her buttons and smoothed a hand over her tangled hair. “I must look a fright.”

In truth, she looked sexy as hell, all tousled and flushed like a woman who had just enjoyed a satisfying roll on a couch. This was a side of Audra he hadn't seen before. He didn't know what to make of it. Or her.