Lake of Fire (18 page)

She brought her arms up and wrapped them around Cord’s neck.

Laura’s face went hot, and she gripped her borrowed skirt. She wanted to rush at them, but she felt frozen. Her fingernails cut crescents on her palms, and the flush that had begun on her face suffused her whole body.

My God, she would have to sit at table with him on Thanksgiving and Christmas, and watch his children grow up. She’d have to watch his lovely dark head turn silver, so near and yet forever far.

Wildly, she looked for a way out.

Lifting her skirts to prevent them rustling, she fled. Cord’s back was to her, and Constance’s face wasn’t visible behind his shoulders. Expecting that at any second one of them would see her, she kept going. The twenty feet to the exit seemed to stretch a mile.

Reaching the big wooden door, she ratcheted the metal latch. For a few interminable seconds, she struggled. Finally, she wrenched the door open and stumbled into the sun.

Outside, a family was loading their wagon with picnic supplies from the hotel store: a whole ham, loaves of bread, and a sweating jug of drink. The young mother, wearing a worn sunbonnet and carrying a baby on her hip, watched Laura’s flight with curiosity.

Without slowing, Laura rushed across the road ahead of the clattering hooves of a four-horse team. The driver atop the red-painted stagecoach sawed on the reins and swore.

Reaching the cool shade of pines and the footpath along the lakeshore, she wished she’d never left Chicago.

In the ripe warmth of the stable, William’s hands gripped Constance’s shoulders and his mouth plundered hers.
All the remembered tenderness had turned dark and somehow desperate. It did not seem possible that this man had walked with her beside the lily ponds in St. Paul’s Como Park, bending his head attentively like a perfect gentleman.

A door slammed, and rapid footsteps approached. “Halloo!” a man called.

William raised his head and stepped back from Constance so quickly that she nearly fell.

The man in army blues and braided cap took in her heaving breasts. Stepping forward, he placed the flat of his hand on William’s chest and pushed him back against the creaking wood of the stall gate.

William stood perfectly still before the shorter, barrel-chested man in uniform, but a muscle in his cheek jumped. “Feddors,” he said quietly.

“Are you all right, miss?” Feddors asked without taking his eyes off William.

“Of course.” Her face flamed, and she reached to smooth her hair with trembling hands. “Mr. William Sutton is my betrothed.”

Constance saw Feddors’s dark eyes narrow above his wide, waxed mustache. He studied William’s bronzed face with its high cheekbones, and she got the distinct impression that Feddors wanted to hit him.

“Is there anything else we can do for you?” William asked.

“No.” Feddors stepped back and gave Constance a little bow she thought might be ironic. “It’s just a might strange that a fine young girl like you would
take up with a … person like this.”

Grabbing her hand, William pulled her with him down the stable aisle. Her high-heeled boots nearly went out from under her as she struggled through the thick straw.

When they reached the door, William shot the latch and went through. Stunningly bright, the sunlight outside seemed to stab her eyes.

The golden grass waved; the sun made the pine smells rise just as it had before they went into the stable, but nothing felt the same.

L
aura entered the dining room late for dinner, for she dreaded seeing Constance and Cord together. Even more, she did not want to have Hank dance attendance on her.

To her surprise, she found that this evening’s meal would be shared with only her cousin, Aunt Fanny, and her father.

Forrest glared at her from beneath his graying brows. “You have missed the appetizer.”

Laura slid into a seat and unfolded her linen napkin. “Thank you for waiting.”

“Beg pardon?”

She raised her voice. “I said, thank you for waiting dinner for me.”

“Why, Laura.” Aunt Fanny sounded aghast.

She could have taken her cue, but since she’d come through the wilderness with Cord, Laura wasn’t willing to settle back into her old submissive role. “What’s
the matter, Aunt? I am so insignificant that no one waits on me, while in Chicago I am expected to wait on you all.”

Constance gave her a level look across the boards. Laura couldn’t tell if she offered support.

“Where is your … William this evening?” Laura offered her own challenge. The memory of her cousin’s arms around Cord made her want to throw plates, to scratch Constance’s delicate cheeks until she drew blood.

Constance took up the gauntlet, gritting, “Perhaps he and Hank are out dueling over the hotel.”

“Girls!” Forrest’s voice cracked like a whip.

The elemental idea of Cord and Hank coming to blows did not seem far-fetched to Laura in her present mood. Unable to help herself, she went on, “Or perhaps William is waiting for you in the stable.”

Constance’s blue eyes went wide, then seemed to narrow into slits.

“What’s this, child?” Aunt Fanny looked from Laura to her daughter. “You know it is not seemly …”

Her face whiter than usual, Constance shoved back from the table and fled the dining room.

Blood pounding, she hastened away from the hotel into twilight, following the beaten path past the employees’ quarters. How could Laura know she and William had been in the stable, unless she’d been spying on
them? Her face hot, she imagined her cousin peeping at them while they kissed.

Wishing she had brought her blue woolen cloak, Constance crossed her arms and hastened on, her thoughts turning from Laura to that embrace. It had been all wrong, rough and somehow forced when she’d expected tenderness. It dawned on her that William had dodged speaking of their betrothal. How dare he court her in the spring and then turn into this hard man once he returned to the West?

It really was getting cold out here, but as she started to turn back, she saw a crowd of people gathered in a clearing. Though she had fled to the woods for privacy, curiosity drew her on toward the unmistakable stench of garbage.

At the hotel dump, two grizzlies and four smaller black bears snarled and waved their paws at two soldiers bearing buckets of kitchen scraps, backed by three with rifles.

One of the soldiers flipped a pork chop toward a shaggy grizzly female with a humped back and a blond muzzle. On her hind legs, she neatly caught the tidbit, put it into her mouth, and raised her claw-studded paws in renewed appeal.

A few feet away, Constance noticed Hank Falls, standing quite close to a dark-haired woman of at least forty. His hand rested on her silk-clad elbow; her hair appeared to have been hastily pulled up and fastened by a Spanish comb.

Hank leaned closer and murmured something in
the woman’s ear. She laughed, and Constance recognized Mrs. Giles, the woman she had breakfasted with her first morning in the park, having risen earlier than her mother or Uncle Forrest. Esther Giles seemed too youthful for her husband, Harold, a rotund, florid-faced man of at least sixty. Yet, despite his age, Harold seemed hale, as he planned his day fishing with a guide.

On that morning, Constance had believed William would never leave her alone like that.

Mrs. Giles giggled like a girl at another of Hank’s apparent witticisms. Maybe Harold had not been too smart to go fishing without his wife.

Several of the black bears crowded closer. Constance retreated a step, colliding with what felt like a very large person behind her. “I beg your pardon.”

“Certainly.” With that single word, Constance was reminded of the Swedes she’d met when she visited St. Paul.

As one of the grizzlies lunged toward a black bear, she recoiled once more and made a misstep on the uneven ground.

A hand on her arm steadied her. “Be careful, for I do not fancy carrying you back to the hotel.”

The sense of familiarity grew stronger. Constance turned to look up into the broad face of a blond giant whose beard was much redder than his hair.

“Or perhaps it would not be unpleasant to carry you.”

Her face grew warm.

“Norman Hagen,” he said genially, bowing over
her hand in a gallant manner. “We …”

“Met in St. Paul,” she finished for him.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Miss Devon.” Norman’s fair skin looked flushed, even with the evening breeze. His hand, still holding hers, was as broad as a board; his fingernails cleaner than those of men who made a living with their hands.

“Are you still with the railroad?” Constance remembered, while his clear eyes held hers with what could only be admiration.

“The Northern Pacific.” He spoke as though he restrained his tone to avoid scaring people. “You do remember.”

At the home of Uncle David and Aunt Florence, a string quartet had played the drifting notes of Bach. Everyone at the party was older than Constance, except for Cousin Fiona, nineteen and already sad-looking like her mother.

Constance had sought the solace of the terrace.

“Do you mind if I smoke?” The deep voice had startled her, and she’d turned to find Norman looking down at her from his great height. A man of apparently few words, he had lit a cigarette and stood next to her by the balustrade, enjoying the garden view. Golden daffodils and purple crocus cups promised spring.

When the dinner chime sounded, Norman escorted her in, his big hand placed politely at the small of her back. Whenever she looked up from her plate, his eyes met hers with a kind of emphasis that made Constance have to force her focus away.

The next afternoon she met William.

“Hello, what’s this?” Norman lifted Constance’s left hand with the garnet ring.

“I’m betrothed to William Sutton,” she said staunchly.

“Cord Sutton.” Norman nodded. Everyone but her seemed to call him that. “He was in St. Paul talking with the Northern Pacific about buying one of our park hotels.”

“Is that what you’re doing here?”

“Yes, two groups have put their name in the hat.”

“Won’t the highest bid win?”

Norman looked thoughtful. “I wish it were that simple. The railroad’s board is concerned that the best possible candidate manage the hotel, since we will still be bringing folks here by train. Though the Northern Pacific has been stymied in their attempts to build branch lines into the park, we continue to have hopes.”

“Always progress,” Constance observed.

“After all, it is nineteen-hundred.” Norman shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

“For the past few days, I and the other company representative, Mr. Hopkins Chandler, have been getting to know Hank Falls and his banker, Forrest Fielding. Tomorrow, I will talk with your fiancé, and then we may have some joint sessions to see how each side will plead their case.”

Constance met his eyes. “I’m also the niece of
Forrest Fielding.”

“Oh dear.” Norman smiled ruefully. “I guess that puts us both in the middle.”