Promise Me (2 page)

“I'm thinking we ought to do just the opposite.” Jack tapped one pudgy finger on the deck of cards.

Pruitt's comment intrigued Sam. The man could be a cold, calculating bastard, which was sometimes necessary in a mining town as wild and unpredictable as Willow Creek, Montana.

Pruitt shuffled the cards. “I think we need somebody to court this widder woman, crawl into her bed and then humiliate her in front of the whole entire town. That'd teach the bitch a good lesson— that she ought to be minding her Christian”—he spit the word out as if he were cussing— “concerns back in Helena instead of messing with men's business. We need to run her out of town with her tail between her legs.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “And just who could be cold-hearted enough to take advantage of a woman determined to do good for the less fortunate?” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

Pruitt never looked away from Sam as he finished dealing the cards. “Why, I think you'd be the best candidate for the job, Calhoun. You got all that smooth charm that draws the ladies like bees to a rose garden. You got the looks, too, and you sure enough know your way around a petticoat.”

The rest of the men joined Pruitt in laughter before he continued. “Seems you don't have no trouble getting into a woman's drawers, if the gossip can be believed.”

Sam slowly sucked in a large gulp of air and then searched his pocket for a cheroot to hold his temper in check. Once, a long time ago, he would have shoved himself from the table and delivered a beating to any man who'd dared to insult his character. Those days were long gone and nearly forgotten. Life had taught Samuel Calhoun some hard and mean lessons; more than anything, he'd learned to survive and to make the most of every opportunity fate threw in his direction.

He lit the cigar and took a deep puff, relishing the rich, slightly bitter taste of the tobacco. He let the smoke circle above his head to form a halo.

Sam pasted the lazy grin back on his face as he took the measure of the man sitting across from him. “I could seduce the lady. There'd be no real challenge to that, gentlemen. My question is, what's in it for me?” Sam balanced the cigar on the edge of the table, gathered his hand together, and sorted his cards. “After all, I aim to make a fortune in Montana territory. That's the reason I came here in the first place.”

“Four thousand dollars.” Pruitt said.

Sam spread his cards face down on the table and brought the cheroot to his lips again. “Six thousand. The lady might be a pasty-faced bluestocking.”

The men placed their bets and Henry Sanders folded.

“Five thousand,” Pruitt said.

Sam's mind raced with possibilities. Five thousand dollars to bed a woman. Hell, these men must be desperate to get rid of her. And if he did as they asked, it was possible he'd earn their trust enough to learn what they were planning. He'd worked for several months to get to this point.

“Five thousand and five percent of the profits from each of your mines for the next year.” Sam knew it was too much, and he'd never be around long enough to collect, but he loved to bargain.

Pruitt nodded at the other men. “What do you say to those terms?”

Henry belched and shook his head. “Seems to me that's a lotta money for gettin' a woman to do what she might wanna do anyhow. Mebbe I'll take a crack at her myself, and I'd do it fer free.”

Pruitt shook his head, and his lips twisted as if he'd tasted something sour. “The only women you can entice into your bed, old man, are the ones you pay cash money for. We're talking about a lady here, and ain't none of us got the know how to court a lady.” His voice dropped an octave and he leaned forward. “Most ‘specially a Christian lady. I hear tell she's a papist too.”

Sam patiently waited for their decision. Dealing with a Christian woman with righteous works on her mind was one thing. Trying to seduce a good Catholic lady was another.

“It just might be, Calhoun, you'll have your work cut out for you. I'll give you the money, because it'll cost me a whole lot more if she starts making the miners think they ain't getting their due.” Pruitt leaned across the table and offered his hand.

Sam had a momentary twinge of conscience, but he tamped it down. He wondered what kind of hellcat he'd be taking on in the form of the Widow Wainwright. Not that he'd actually seduce and ruin her. He'd court her, earn her trust and then find a way to send her back to Helena, her reputation intact. If she
was
a lady the rough mining town would probably do his work for him.

The other men gave in and grudgingly agreed to his terms. Lady luck was indeed with him tonight.

Each man added his chips to the pile and showed his cards. Finally, it was Sam's turn. He carefully flipped each card with a fluent twist of his wrist.

“Four kings and a queen,” he said, as the other men stared at his hand in dead silence.

Sam gathered his chips, scraped them into his Stetson, and stood. “I expect I need my rest, gentlemen. Seducing a lady can be hard work.” He shrugged into his black frock coat, adjusted his string tie, and smoothed out the wrinkles from his fancy waistcoat.

“I'll be in touch. I don't imagine it'll take long to accomplish the task of getting rid of Mrs. Wainwright.”

“We're hoping you can be quick about this, Calhoun. The longer that woman stays in town, the more damage she'll be able to do. Don't lollygag around romancing her.” Jack pounded the table.

Samuel Calhoun took offense at Jack's tone, and he turned back to face the poker players still seated at the oak table.

“What we are talking about, gentlemen, is a delicate matter. I take pride in my work, regardless of its nature.” He touched the handle of his revolver. “I expect you to let me undertake this courtship in the manner I deem most appropriate.”

Jack Pruitt stood, the sawdust on the saloon floor making small clouds as he stomped his foot. “Just remember, Calhoun, we hired you to get rid of her. Don't go getting all soft and feeling sorry for the woman. Be careful you don't go fallin' in love with her.”

Sam stood at the bar of the Dark Horse saloon and choked out a bitter laugh. He had learned a powerful lesson years ago. Love ended in disappointment and loss.

“I promise you, gentlemen, I'll make the Widow Wainwright sorry she ever came to town. As for me falling in love, well, there's a better chance of you buying ice from the devil.”

Sam folded the money the barkeep handed him and stuffed it into the pocket of his vest. Taking one last draw from his cheroot, he tossed it into a polished brass spittoon and touched one finger to the tip of his hat. “Gentlemen, I'll be talking to you.” His long legs carried him across the pine floor, and he pushed through the swinging doors. He stood outside on the wooden sidewalk and grinned when he heard Henry Sanders's voice.

“Damn arrogant son-of-a-bitch. I'm almost hopin' that widder woman keeps her legs shut tight just to teach him a lesson.”

Sam brushed a speck of dust from his coat and kicked at the thick mud of the street shining in the moonlight. Truth be known, he wished the same, because resistance from a woman would make the seduction a challenge. Sam loved a challenge.

More likely he'd have to work to woo the widow. Arthur Wainwright had been over sixty when he died. His widow might be near that age herself, which could work in Sam's favor. A more mature woman might be grateful for the attentions of a younger man.

He stood before the mill office and stared at the sign hanging above him. Calhoun Lumber Company. It was simple, and when he was on an assignment, he chose to keep things as simple as possible. His life was predicated upon simplicity and deceit. He constantly re-created himself—no past, no future. He existed for the duration of the job, then disappeared.

On this assignment, he'd discovered he was a good businessman, and several times he'd been tempted to resign from his position and settle down here. But too much was at stake. If he didn't discover more about the mine owners and their plan to turn the country to the silver standard, economic disaster would result.

That was his main reason for accepting the challenge to seduce the much-feared Widow Wainwright. If he could figure out a way to rid the mine owners of this inconvenient woman, there was a chance they'd finally accept him into their inner circle.

His assignment as a member of the United States Secret Service was too important to let an issue like one woman's feelings interfere. He'd already spent months creating his false identity to discover the roots of a massive counterfeiting operation. He was close to gaining their trust, and the information he needed to expose their plot.

Jack's warning echoed in his mind. Sam shook his head. He could protect himself from falling in love while seducing the Widow Wainwright. He no longer possessed a heart to lose.

Chapter Two

“Mud.” Amanda Wainwright sighed deeply as she gazed out the carriage window. “This whole town is brown and gray and covered in mud.”

She was alone in the carriage, so no one answered her. Lately, she'd taken to talking to herself to fill in the blanks and alleviate the loneliness. People might think her a bit daft, or maybe eccentric, if they heard her. Rich widows were allowed to be eccentric, weren't they?

She touched the black veiling on the hat perched next to her. She hated widow's weeds; each glimpse of herself reminded her she was completely and utterly alone.

Amanda took a deep breath; she needed to prepare herself for the days ahead. She still felt inadequate for the task Arthur had charged to her upon his deathbed. Her dying husband had begged her to make things right for the workers who had sacrificed so much of their lives to make him a rich man.

The stench of sickness had hung over him when he'd extracted the promise from her. She'd vowed to create the Miners' Benevolent Association for the workforce in his mines. It seemed an impossible task. She'd never had any responsibility other than directing servants and being an obedient daughter and wife. What did she know of miners and their problems?

The carriage halted, and Amanda stretched the muscles that had cramped on the long trip into the mountains. Snatching the despised hat, she set it upon her head and spread the heavy veiling across her shoulders to shield her face. The door opened and her driver nodded to her politely.

“We're here, ma'am.”

Amanda wrapped the ribbons of her black, beaded bag around her thin wrist and held out a gloved hand. The man assisted her to the ground, and mud oozed over the toes of her boots. Lifting the hem of her bombazine gown, she walked to the steps and into the Parmeter House.

Amanda stood at the polished wood counter and waited patiently. A few minutes passed before a tall woman in a dark gray dress bustled out a doorway and smiled warmly at Amanda.

“Land sakes, you must be the Widder Wainwright.”

Amanda felt bitterness sting her tongue as her face grew hot. She hated being identified as the surviving mate of a dead man. It was always followed by looks of pity for the poor widow.

The woman searched a warren of cubbyholes behind her, finally turning to hand a key and an envelope to Amanda.

“My name's Harriet Parmeter, and I own this place. I put you up in the best room I got, but let me know if there's anythin' you need.” The woman's smile grew warmer. “That nice Mr. Penny set you up with three meals a day and Lee Chan to do your laundry.”

Amanda nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Parmeter, I appreciate your hospitality.” A thick, tight band squeezed her chest as warmth rushed once more to her cheeks beneath the veil.

“Call me Harriet. Your agent's been telling folks what you plan to do for this town, and well—I'm real thankful I can give you a bit of hospitality.”

Amanda wasn't sure how to react to this kindness and open gratitude. Her only thought in preparing for this journey to Willow Creek had been fulfilling the infernal promise she'd made to Arthur.

It was possible Amanda was in Willow Creek to discover if she were still alive. She'd started to imagine she was slowly fading to become a ghost, wandering about the rooms of her hotel in Helena, lost and without purpose.

Harriet pointed toward the stairs. “Last room on the left. Mr. Penny ain't in his room right now, but I'll let him know you got here just fine.”

“Thank you. Could you please have my driver bring my things up to the room?” Amanda fingered the large skeleton key.

The woman hurried from behind the counter while fastening a spotless white apron around her waist. “You must be near starved, comin' all that way from Helena. I'll fix up somethin' for you right away. I bet a nice pot of tea would wash some of that road dust outta your throat.”

Amanda nodded, grateful for the older woman's kindness. “Tea would be lovely, but please don't go to any special trouble.”

Harriet sniffed. “I got biscuits coming outta the oven anytime now, and fresh butter, made this morning. Won't be no trouble 'tall to bring you up a tray.”

She scuttled behind Amanda like a mother hen, urging her up the stairs. “Go on and wash up, I had fresh water put in your room. You look pure tuckered out from all that travelin'.”