Promises Reveal (44 page)

“So, for this reason you will invite me?”

“No.” For a whole lot of other ones. Beneath the amusement, beneath the bruises, Evie saw the one thing that Nidia probably didn’t want her to see. Something she’d never seen in all the years they’d grown up together in the same town. Longing. Nidia, daughter of a whore, once a whore, and now a madam, longed for respectability. “But if I did invite you, would you come?”

“Probably.” Nidia took another sip of soup, that vulnerability gone as if it had never existed, buried under a layer of cold. “If only to hear all the proper ladies of town squawk.”

“Then I’ll invite you.”

Nidia stared at her for a few seconds, studying the level of her sincerity, and upon ascertaining it, said one thing, “Don’t.”

And Evie understood something else about Nidia. She was protective of her friends. While the idea of rubbing society’s face in its own rules appealed, she considered Brad her friend, and she wouldn’t embarrass him. Evie’s respect for the woman grew.

“The McKinnelys have an interesting custom.”

There was an infinitesimal break in the return of the spoon to the bowl at the mention of the McKinnelys. It didn’t take much to figure out why. Nidia’s attempt to seduce Cougar away from Mara at the start of their marriage had been grist for the gossip mill for months.

“They tend to claim people they want as family. To them it’s a bond as strong as blood.”

Nidia took another very careful sip of her soup. “For sure, Mara wants my blood.”

Because Nidia had tried to take what was hers. “Why did you do it?”

She thought Nidia would pretend to misunderstand or simply not answer, but then, with a small shrug, she said, “Because I’m a whore and he was a man abandoned by his wife. Fair game. I couldn’t help myself.”

That was such a load of bull. Evie folded her arms across her chest. “Besides that, I mean.”

“You don’t believe me?”

As if anyone with half a brain would. “No. I always thought there was more to it than that.”

They’d grown up together, and even though she hadn’t been allowed to play with her, Evie had never gotten the impression that Nidia was stupid.

“You think too much of me.” She dipped the spoon in the soup and gave it a stir, watching the move with far more concentration that it deserved. Hiding. “My mother had died. I didn’t want to always be the whore as she had been, but there was no other way to feed my belly, except marriage. Cougar would have been a good provider.”

Brad was right. There were too few choices for women. “Why specifically Cougar?”

This time there was a longer pause and on a sigh that told Evie this was the truth, she confessed, “I thought he would understand. He was not white, had never known acceptance, and he hurt as I did.”

In other words, she’d thought they had a lot in common. Since Evie had hung the hope for her marriage on the same foundation, she understood.

Nidia pushed a noodle around with the spoon, before scooping it up. For a second she looked so young, alone. Looking up, Nidia caught her staring. Her lips twisted in a mocking smile. “Believe it or not, I intended to be a good wife to him.”

And in return Cougar would have provided protection a woman who had always been a victim needed. If Cougar hadn’t been falling in love with Mara, it would have been a good plan. “There will never be anybody for Cougar but Mara.”

“Too late, I realized that”—her shrug was fatalistically small—“but at the time, it was a battle to prove who could serve his needs better. By the time I realized his heart was involved”—she shrugged again—“the damage was done.”

Not once had Nidia’s voice broken. She’d just recited the facts of her life and her choices as if they were normal, everyday things. Which they were . . . for her. Brad’s words in the church came back to her again. Whatever he had planned, she was going to back it. No one’s life should be reduced to such horrible choices. “I’m so sorry.”

Nidia’s head snapped up. “I do not need the pity of such a woman as you. A woman who depends on a man, who lives at his discretion. I’ve made my own way in the world. I have my own money, my own life. No longer do I serve men. Now, it is I who pity you.”

More bull, and Evie wasn’t in the mood to humor her. “No, you envy me, and I do feel sorry for you. I feel sorry that you never had the chance to do what you wanted, that no one gave you a chance, but I’m glad you got to stop being a prostitute.”

Nidia tossed her head and then winced. “They say you’re odd.”

“They say you’re a whore,” Evie shot back.

“But you don’t believe it?”

Evie shrugged. “I pretty much don’t care how you make your money.”

“Why did you come here, Evie Swanson?”

“I came to thank you and, I think, to see if we could be friends.”

“You are as odd as they say. A misfit.”

“So I’ve been told often enough.” She stood. “I’ve got to get back. Millie’s going to start missing me.”

Nidia held out the bowl. “You don’t want to land on the wrong side of the wooden spoon.”

She took it. “No, I don’t.” There wasn’t anything else to say.

As Evie unlocked the door, Nidia added, “The Reverend is a misfit, too.”

With a shake of her head, Evie sighed, “If what you’re trying to say is that we’re good together, just say it. The world won’t end because of a bit of honesty.”

“I have not made up my mind.”

“Well, unfortunately, I have.” And the truth was, Evie liked Nidia. Darn it.

 
EVIE DIDN’T LIKE the man coming toward her. There was absolutely no reason for her dislike. He wasn’t even looking at her, just climbing the stairs with slow, steady steps. The brown-stained hat on his head blocked his face. She only had an impression of broad shoulders, lean muscle, and purpose. It didn’t matter. Everything in her went on alert. She retraced her steps, the carpeting muffling her footsteps. Keeping her eye on the man, she reached back for the latch to Nidia’s room. It lifted silently. With a quick step, she backed into the room, grabbing her skirts as they swirled forward and yanking them clear before quietly closing the door.

“What is it?”

“There’s a man in the hall,” she whispered, dropping the lock back into place.

“This is not so strange a thing in a whorehouse.”

Evie glanced over her shoulder. Nidia looked very small in the big bed. She definitely wasn’t going to be much help if the stranger turned out to be trouble. “Do you have a gun?”

“Of course. Don’t you?”

“I used to.” Before Brad took it last night, claiming she needed more lessons before he’d trust her with it again. She backed up a step, then another. “Where is it?”

The footsteps stopped. The door latch lifted soundlessly, hit the barrier of the lock, and stopped. Evie cast a glance at Nidia. She held her finger to her lips and motioned to the vanity. Eyes glued to the door, Evie made her way quietly backward as Nidia threw the covers back. She caught a glimpse of slim thighs bearing more bruises. What had Bull done to her? The latch rattled harder this time. Evie slid the drawer open as quietly as possible. It was empty. She looked up at Nidia and shook her head.

“Elijah!” Nidia whispered his name like a curse. “Once I shot at him by accident, and he takes offense.”

Evie couldn’t blame him, but right now she could really hate him. They needed that gun. The door crashed opened, slammed against the opposite wall. Nidia screamed for help. Evie just screamed and threw the bowl. It missed. Her gaze fell on the vanity stool.

“What do you want, Casey?” Nidia demanded.

Casey stepped into the room, his green eyes locked unnervingly on Evie. There was something familiar in his coloring and features.

She swung the stool. He grabbed her arm, spinning her around, yanking her back against his chest. The odors of sweat and horse filled her lungs in a sharp inhalation. The man’s arm locked around her throat like a vise, trapping her within. Something cold, hard, and circular jabbed under her chin. A gun. A cold sweat sprang up along her skin. If she could’ve taken another breath she would’ve screamed again as he said as calmly as if he were ordering dinner, “Her.”

HOMER BURST INTO the church. The front door crashed against the opposite wall.

“Reverend!”

Brad stopped on his way out the back door, sighed, and headed for the front. Homer had a flair for the dramatic. Someone’s horse throwing a shoe was as much a call to panic as a man being gunned down in the street.

“Back here, Homer.”

The man ran down the aisle, bumping the pews, spinning around, stumbling, getting back up, and running straight at him, his slicked-back hair falling in lank chunks about his face. Brad got the first chill down his spine.

“Reverend, they’ve got your wife!”

The second chill fanned outward, spreading along his nerves, freezing out emotion. Brad glanced out the window. The streets were inordinately quiet for a Tuesday afternoon. Homer skidded to a stop in front of him, breathing hard, sweat dripping from beneath his hat into his scraggly beard.

God could do what he wanted with him, but Evie was off-limits.

He let the promise linger before asking Homer, “Who has my wife?”

“I’m supposed to give you this.” Homer shoved a wrinkled-up piece of paper at him.

Brad took the missive, the sense of inevitability that had been haunting him for the last few months settling in with a strange calm.

“Doc sent for Cougar and Clint.”

Cougar, Clint, and Asa were miles away, hunting a lead on Casey. They wouldn’t get back in time for anything but arranging the funeral.

Homer watched avidly as Brad unfolded the note. No doubt, if he could read, he would be blurting out the contents. There was only one sentence.

That was a lie. Casey believed in the ten times rule: whatever offense that was committed against him, he believed in repaying ten times over. Casey believed Brad had stolen his wife and child. That would be a blood debt. There was no way he intended Brad, Evie, or about eighteen townspeople to survive.

“What’s it say?”

Brad refolded the note. “He wants a trade.”

“For what?”

“Something he’s not going to get.”

“You seem awfully calm.”

“I’m a minister.”

Homer frowned. “That mean you believe God will provide?”

God or devil, it didn’t make any never mind to Brad. The bastard had his Evie. “Something like that.”

“What do you want me to do?”

Homer was all foolish heart but no skill. “I want you to warn everyone to stay inside and then I want you to get inside.”

Where it was safe.

“That’s it?”

Brad clapped him on the shoulder and forced a smile. “Someone’s got to be around to tell the tale when this is done.”

Knocking his hand aside, Homer drew himself up to his full height. “I ain’t no coward to be hiding out when some crazy son of a bitch comes to town picking on a God-fearing preacher man.”

Except Casey wasn’t crazy, and he hadn’t come alone. On that Brad would bet money. “Never said you were, but this is old business.”

“So?”

So I’ll handle it.”

“How?”

“I’ll come up with something.”

Homer narrowed his eyes and stepped back. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“That’s not part of my plan.”

Forgetting where he was, Homer spat. Spittle splattered on the polished floor. Homer, who normally worried excessively about such offenses, didn’t even glance at it. “A lot of people don’t plan to end up dead.”

“True, and as I don’t want any of them being my congregation, I need you to get to warning them.”

“It ain’t right—”

Brad let a little of his facade slip, let the anger and determination out. “Now, Homer.”

Homer opened his mouth, closed it, and on a curse that made no allowances for where he was, stormed back down the aisle, muttering “It ain’t right” the whole way.

Brad waited until the door shut, throwing the room into cool shadows. He turned and headed for the altar. The box would be where he’d left it. No one stole from the church. Outlaws tended to be a superstitious lot. They might kill in a church, but steal from God? Even the hardest bandit considered that a plague of bad luck not worth inviting in.

The plain wooden box was heavy, and settled on the altar table with a soft thud. Inside, metal jostled against metal. Brad fished the key from his pocket then hesitated, his finger on the lid. Once he opened the box there was no going back. Evie’s face flashed in his mind, the imp in her grin, the fire of her anger, and now . . . He shook his head, pulled up cold. Hell, he didn’t know what her face looked like in fear, and she had to be so afraid, but he couldn’t picture it. Because until he’d come into her life, there’d been no reason for her to fear.