Only My Love (45 page)

She shook her head. "There was a telegram from Mama and my sisters yesterday. They're anxious for me to come home. They've read everything Drew's written but it isn't enough for them. They need to see me to know that I'm really safe."

"In their place I'd want the same thing." Yesterday, he thought, his eyes clouding. Yesterday she had received a telegram and he hadn't known about it. They were only two weeks out of the mine, two weeks distant from a time they shared everything, and she was talking to him in the polite tones of a casual acquaintance. "And Jay Mac?" he asked. "What have you heard from him?"

"Another threatening telegram ordering me home." She smiled faintly. "Papa doesn't think I should have to testify. I can imagine he's furious that he can't influence the prosecutors to see things his way." Her smile faded. She pushed food around her plate for a moment, then set down her fork and gave up the pretense of eating. "You should have told me about your connection to my father," she said, raising her eyes to his. Her green eyes held no accusation, only a certain sadness. She fingered the brooch she had saved from the mine. "Why didn't you?"

"There never seemed a good time."

"When we were trapped in the mine you told me you were a marshal. Why not the rest?"

"It wasn't important."

But it was, Michael thought, and she had had to learn it from Ethan while he was explaining it to the state's attorneys. The nature of his business in Logan Marshall's office all those months ago had finally become clear. The only deal he had offered anyone that day was his promise to end the series of train robberies that were plaguing the Union Pacific in Colorado, Nebraska and Wyoming, and make it possible for investors to see profits in expanding the routes. "You were essentially working for my father," she said. "I'd say that was important."

"You're father didn't hire me, Michael. Neither did Logan Marshall. I'm employed by the federal government. The idea for becoming part of the gang was actually Joe Rivington's, the Secretary of the Interior's man. Marshall supplied the contacts we needed to create some stories about bank robberies in Missouri and Colorado, all of which described a clever safe blaster. Houston found me as a result of those stories. Carl Franklin, representing your father and Northeast Rail Lines, offered contacts with all the lines as the search continued to identify and locate the man who was supplying information to the robbers. Long before we knew the identities of anyone involved in the robberies, we understood their approach to the crimes. When I failed early on to learn about Cooper I had to become more a part of Houston's gang than I, or anyone else, had ever intended.

"Cooper eluded us because we were looking for a small cog in the machinery. No one expected him to be a respected vice-president and major stockholder with the Union Pacific. It was your father who recognized the description I telegraphed to his office. Those pale eyes were as unforgettable as I thought they might be."

Michael nodded. "Peter Monroe and my father attended Harvard together. I imagine they've had a number of business dealings over the years. I understand why Mr. Monroe wouldn't have used his own name with Houston, but why Cooper?"

"Apparently Monroe's grandfather repaired barrels and casks for a living. Monroe thought he was being common and coy by using the name."

"And his motive for engineering the robberies?"

"The simplest one: greed. He had ideas of expanding into his own rail line."

"He's been arrested?"

"Four days ago in the San Francisco offices."

Michael picked up her tea cup. It was cool to the touch but she sipped it anyway. "I wish you had told me," she said after a moment.

"About Monroe's arrest?"

She shook her head. "About Jay Mac. About his involvement in your scheme."

"It wasn't a scheme. It was a plan. And I told you, I didn't really work for Jay Mac Worth."

"Of course you did. You risked your life to make my father richer. He'll put his money down in Colorado rails and reap the profits now that you've helped clear another obstacle."

"A lot of people will benefit."

She snorted delicately and her tones were icy when she spoke. "Now you sound like my sister Rennie. She knows all about profits and losses and how many people will benefit. Jay Mac will be at the top of the heap, I can tell you that."

A muscle ticked along Ethan's jaw. "I want to know what's wrong with you," he said. "Why are you being deliberately provoking?"

"Keep your voice down," she said quickly, glancing around at the other diners. The privacy of their corner table was not assured by the potted palms and hothouse flowers that surrounded them. She put her cup down and her hands drifted to her lap. Beneath the table she nervously pleated the linen napkin. "I wasn't aware I was being provoking at all."

But she knew it was a lie. She wanted to make him feel something, some regret for not being completely honest with her when he had had the chance. This wasn't about Jay Mac. He was merely an excuse, the thing she could talk about when what she really wanted to say was 'why weren't you honest about loving me?'

"Are you nervous about the trial?" he asked.

The trial. She wanted to scream, rail at him. She didn't care about the trial. No, that wasn't true either. She did care, only not as much as she cared about him never touching her any more, never kissing her, never acknowledging by so much as a gesture that they had once been lovers, or that he had ever said he loved her. She remembered his words when she asked about the separate rooms in Stillwater. "This isn't Kelly's Saloon and you aren't really my wife." It seemed there was no place for them anywhere outside of Kelly's Saloon. Not Stillwater. Not Denver. Certainly not New York.

"I suppose I'm nervous," she said. "A little."

"The courtroom will be full."

She shrugged. "The trial has national interest."

"Have you thought of how you're going to respond to questions about us?"

Her beautifully feathered eyebrows rose a fraction. "What about us?" she said coolly. Hidden from his view were her fingers frantically pleating the napkin, knuckles nearly as white as the linen. "There's nothing to tell. Nothing happened."

It was what he expected to hear at the trial, but not now, not in the relative privacy of the dining room, when they were alone for one of the few times since the arrests. Ethan felt as if he'd been kicked. "I see," he said. His eyes searched hers, caught her glance and held it. He could not tell what she was thinking, the emerald eyes were more blank than guarded, more resigned than challenging. "That's the way you remember it?" he asked.

"Don't you?" She waited. Tell me now, she wanted to say. Tell me that you love me. Make me believe it wasn't about offering comfort when you thought we would die.

He remembered that she had said she loved him.

He had tried to caution himself then that she was merely throwing him a bone, that she had said it as a means of salving her own conscience. But he hadn't wanted to believe that, not really. His fingers raked his dark hair. A heavy ache settled in his chest. "The same," he said quietly, looking away from her.

"Then there's no reason for either one of us to be nervous, is there? We've only to speak the truth."

"There's bound to be speculation," he said.

"There always is," she said with credible indifference. When he didn't say anything silence settled uncomfortably between them. The remainder of her meal grew cold. Ethan ate very little of what was left of his. The waitress came and cleared the table. They accepted her offer of coffee and pie because they were reluctant to leave and didn't know how to go on.

"When do you think I'll be able to go home?" she asked. "That was the gist of Mama's telegram yesterday."

Apple pie tasted like ash in his mouth. "A few weeks. I suspect Houston's trial will take the longest. Dee's may be a close second. The cases against Happy, Ben, and Jake will be quick. They may even be tried together."

"Peter Monroe's?"

"Cooper has to be extradited here first. That could take a while. It shouldn't matter to you. You don't have to give any testimony in that case. I'm the witness who can identify him."

"Then you won't be going to New York any time soon." Michael wondered at her preternatural calm. How could her heart, beating wildly, not lend its vibration to her voice?

"No," he said. The coffee was too hot for his mouth. He didn't care. "Not any time soon. I don't have any business there."

"I thought..." She faltered and started again, more briskly this time. "I thought you might have some dealings with Joe Rivington."

"If I do, it will take me to Washington, not New York."

"Of course... I didn't think of that."

"This is where I'll be settling, Michael. Colorado will be my home."

"Denver?"

"Most likely. It's at the center of my jurisdiction."

She nodded. He would hate New York if he had to stay there any length of time. It was probably just as well that there was no discussion of marriage. She was east and he was west. It had been so easy to forget in Kelly's Saloon. She had just been his then. Her smile was wistful. And he had been hers.

"Something amusing?" he asked softly.

"No," she said. "Just a wayward thought."

Ethan knew all about those. He wanted to touch her hair. Gaslight softened the burnished frame of it around her face. He imagined his fingertips trace the arch of her cheekbones, sliding along the line of her jaw. His thumb would pass over her lower lip, caress the pout. The tip of her tongue would touch him. Her eyes would darken. He would... Ethan stopped. Michael's eyes were regarding him steadily, as if she could read his thoughts. He reined them in. She didn't want any part of him now. She'd made that clear by going out of her way to avoid him and spending most of her time with Drew Beaumont as soon as he got to Denver.

He pointed to the pie she had barely touched. "Are you finished?"

She flushed self-consciously. "I'm not very hungry." She almost asked if he wanted it then saw he hadn't finished his own. Michael placed her napkin beside her plate. "I should be returning to my room. I have a story to finish for the paper."

"I didn't realize you were writing about the trial for the
Chronicle."

"It's not about the trial. It's about dance halls in mining towns. Something with which I'm well acquainted. I have enough material in my journal for ten or so different articles. Mr. Marshall's going to run them as a serial in the Sunday edition."

She'd never be satisfied with the
Rocky Mountain News,
he thought. "I'll escort you to your room," he said, starting to rise.

Michael let Ethan pull out her chair. She stood. "That won't be necessary." Over his shoulder she caught sight of Drew standing in the hotel lobby. "I see Drew. He'll walk with me. Our rooms are on the same floor and I need to talk to him about something anyway."

Ethan couldn't find any good reason to object. Drew had seen them and was already approaching. Ethan didn't want to be thanked one more time for saving Drew's life. He bid a curt good evening to Michael, took his hat, and brushed past Drew without a word.

"What's the matter with the marshal?" Drew asked, taking Michael's arm.

She stared after Ethan a moment longer. "Just the trial," she said finally. "He's anxious for the trial to begin."

* * *

For fifteen days Denver hung on every word of the trials. Denver was not alone. People all over the country were interested in the story of a sheriff and a deputy who robbed trains, the woman who was his mistress and who may or may not have murdered her husband, the half-brothers who prospected for years in the Rockies with nothing to show for it except what they stole, and everyone's connection to the vice-president of Union Pacific who had hit upon the plan to add to his personal fortune.

The courtroom was filled to capacity every morning, with people waiting in the hallways in the vain hope that someone would excuse themself from the proceedings and the vacancy might be taken. Judge Clark Tucker presided over the madness that ensued, raising his gavel in a threatening manner at the unruly crowd rather than banging it. The
Rocky Mountain News
reported Tucker wore a gun beneath his robes but no one would confirm it, least of all the distinguished judge himself.

True to Ethan's predictions, Houston's trial lasted the longest. It was there that the story of Michael's abduction unraveled and was bared for public scrutiny. Houston's lawyer contended the fault lay with Ethan Stone, not with Nathaniel Houston. He argued eloquently that the man who had placed her in danger was the one who had taken her from the train, not the one who allegedly led the robbery. It was also the defense's contention that the incident at the mines was an accident, the result of a landslide and not attempted murder. He proved that Houston had not ordered the deaths of the
Chronicle
reporters by bringing witnesses from the robbery who could testify to Houston's whereabouts on the train when the cars had been uncoupled.

The courtroom was quiet while Ethan testified but it was nothing to the silence that held the gallery still when Michael took the stand. Under oath she recounted the story of the robbery of No. 349 and her abduction, the way in which Marshal Stone had been careful to maintain his cover for the others but reveal himself to her. Many of the things she was asked to relate by the defense were more damaging to Ethan's reputation than to Houston. It was not Houston who made her work in the saloon or kept her locked in her room. It was not Houston who stopped her escape. She told of being drugged, though she could not say with certainty that Houston had ordered it. The prosecution gave her time to explain that what Ethan had done had been done to protect her; Houston's attorney did everything in his power to make the jury forget that. Her state of mind at the time of the mine incident was called to question again and again and the defense beat her down until she admitted she was not certain of the early events of that night. When she left the stand she was pale and her hands trembled. Drew escorted her out of the courtroom. Ethan did not look up at her as she passed.