Midnight Lover Read online

  "Well, no matter," said Caroline with a sigh of resignation. "It was a foolish idea anyway."

  * * *

  That foolish idea, however, lingered in Caroline's mind all day long and that evening when the others left for supper at Aunt Sally's, she sat down at a table with pen and paper and began to figure out exactly what she would need to begin such a venture.

  It's only conjecture, she told herself, a game played to wile while away some extra hours. But the numbers she put down on paper were too tempting to dismiss.

  "It's possible," she said aloud to the empty saloon, unlikely but still possible. If everything Jenny told her about the other twelve girls was true, she had a chance to make this idea work.

  When she told Abby about her findings later that night, the outspoken young maid was silent as a tomb.

  "Say something, Abby!" Caroline demanded, pacing the length of her bedroom suite. "You have as much at stake in this as I do. I certainly will not be angry if you decide to finish packing your trunks and depart on tomorrow's stagecoach."

  "And if I go, I'll be goin' alone, is that it, miss?" the maid countered.

  Caroline turned and faced the brown-haired girl. "Yes, you will, Abby. I haven't traveled all this way to give up without a fight. If there's a chance to make a success of the Crazy Arrow, I would be a coward if I turned away."

  "This town is the devil's house incarnate," said Abby, crossing herself. "Gambling and drinking and—" Her cheeks turned a vivid shade of red. "My sainted mother would be spinnin' in her grave if she knew I had come to such a place."

  Caroline had to laugh. "Your sainted mother would be quite surprised to hear of her demise, Abby. You can leave for Boston tomorrow with no hard feelings. I shall send you back with references and a full month's wages."

  "You would be displeased with my work, Miss Caroline?"

  "Of course not!"

  "You be tired of my company?"

  "How could I be when you are the only one I can speak frankly with?"

  "You be lookin' to replace me with one of the Wilder girls?"

  "Never."

  "Then I'm staying, Miss Caroline, and it was so nice of you to be askin'."

  Caroline's relief was boundless but she owed it to the girl to let her know what she would be facing. "We may fail yet, Abby. This venture comes with no guarantees."

  Abby's shrug was eloquent. "I wouldn't be askin' for any, miss. Besides," she said with an impish grin, "I never was that fond of Boston myself."

  "Abigail O'Brien," said Caroline, shaking the girl's freckled hand, "it looks like we're in business."

  Chapter 7

  "There!" Abby put the finishing touch to Caroline's upsweep of curls the next morning then stepped back to admire her handiwork. "You be lookin' like a breath of spring."

  Caroline narrowed her eyes as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror hanging over the bar. The dress of jonquil yellow silk fit close to the bosom, waist and stomach, then flared out gracefully over a bustle much trimmer than the ones worn just a few short years ago. Her gloves had been carefully mended but those delicate stitches were invisible even to the most critical eye.

  "Mr. Worth would not believe where his creation has found itself," she said, fastening on her golden earbobs. How high her expectations had been a year ago when this dress arrived upon the Addisons' doorstep in Boston. She had been with Thomas and Emily just a few months, biding her time eagerly until that moment when Aaron said it was time to join him out west.

  How she had dreamed about that day, conjuring up vivid images of cowboys and Indians and a future as wide open and free as the prairies that lay beyond the Mississippi.

  Mr. Worth was kind enough to make this up from your last set of measurements, her father had written in the note she'd found tucked into the sleeve of her new dress. I pray you have not been indulging yourself in chocolates since last I saw you. Wear this when you arrive in Silver Spur and we'll show these simple people how it is done in Boston.

  Well, she was in Silver Spur, wearing her beautiful jonquil yellow dress, but instead of triumphantly strolling the dirt street on her father's arm, she was preparing to ask the bank president for a loan.

  "I am procrastinating," she said at last, turning from her reflection. "The stagecoach arrives at two o'clock and if I am to have the bank's agreement in my hands before then, I'd best be off."

  "Mr. Reardon won't be takin' this kindly," said Abby, adjusting the drape of fabric across her bustle. "He expects the lot of us to be leavin' town before this day is over."

  "Mr. Reardon is entirely too accustomed to getting what he wants." Caroline retrieved her fan, handkerchief, and tiny leather bag from atop the bar. "Perhaps it is time he learned that life isn't always that accommodating."

  She opened the door and made her way down the rickety wooden steps, praying her fragile kid slippers would stand up against the splinters and nails.

  "Mornin', Car-o-line." The unmistakable voice of Jesse Reardon sounded from the vicinity of the Golden Dragon. "Bags all packed and ready to go?"

  He was lounging in the doorway, looking as if he had the world in the palm of his hand. Ah, yes, that was a man who'd found life to be quite accommodating. She had forgotten just how tall and lean and darkly handsome he was and she had to force her eyes away from the broad expanse of chest barely hidden by the thin cotton shirt.

  "Good morning to you, Mr. Reardon," Caroline continued to walk toward the First Free Man's Bank at the opposite side of town. "Pleasant day, is it not?"

  "Didn't answer my question, Car-o-line." He moved away from the door and leaned over the railing. "Stage'll be here before too long. Hope you got your things ready to go."

  "Won't you be surprised, Mr. Reardon," she said under her breath, neatly avoiding a rut in the dirt road.

  He vaulted the railing and caught up with her in three long strides.

  "Where're you going?" he asked, his tone less playful.

  "None of your business."

  "Town isn't safe for someone like you. Men have a way of takin' what they want around here."

  "I shall take your warning into consideration, Mr. Reardon."

  "You got some plan up your sleeve?"

  She said nothing. It took all of her concentration to withhold the triumphant smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

  "Ain't gonna work, Car-o-line."

  She met his eyes. "You may be surprised."

  "No man in this town would be caught dead buyin' whiskey from a citified gal like you."

  "As I said, Mr. Reardon, you may be surprised."

  "So that's the story, is it?" A wicked glint danced in his dark blue eyes. "Don't rightly know how Jade'll cotton to the competition."

  "Jade?"

  "The Golden Dragon."

  "Your lack of moral fiber is quite pathetic, sir." She swept her skirts up and climbed the stairs to the bank. "If you'll excuse me, I have business to attend to."

  "It'll never work, Caroline," he said, laughing. "The Crazy Arrow Saloon is a losing proposition."

  "Maybe so," she tossed over her shoulder, "but the Crazy Arrow Hotel isn't."

  * * *

  "Losing proposition," said Kevin Muldoon, president of the First Free Man's Bank, as he leaned back in his swivel chair and dabbed at the sweat on his brow with a square of white cambric. "You don't stand a chance at making it work, Miss Bennett."

  The heat inside his small office was ghastly but Caroline refused to allow herself to perspire. If ever she needed to present a cool Bostonian image, this was the time.

  "I can understand your apprehension, Mr. Muldoon, but perhaps you misunderstand my intent." Daintily she eased off her sparkling white gloves and laid them on her lap. "I am not interested in adding another saloon to Silver Spur's already impressive list. I am interested in opening a hotel."

  "Got two hotels and a boarding house in town already." Muldoon's eyes were intent upon her late mother's onyx and diamond ring, and deliberately she brushed
back a stray curl to provide him with a better look. He needn't know she would rather die than part with it. "Ones we got don't always get full-up as it is. Can't see where we need another."

  She smiled, letting her dimples deepen appealingly. "Were I speaking of a traditional hotel, I would agree with you wholeheartedly, sir." She leaned forward, allowing him to catch the scent of her violet-scented perfume. "What I am speaking of is quite revolutionary. I should open my hotel only to the fair sex."

  Mr. Muldoon almost swallowed his handkerchief. "Foolishness!" he sputtered, glancing back toward the open window. "Most of the gals here are married or whor—" His round face grew ruddy with embarrassment. "'Scuse me, Miss Bennett. I surely didn't mean you. I was just referring to—"

  "I know to whom you were referring, Mr. Muldoon," Caroline said calmly, "and you are indeed excused. Whether you are aware of it or not, there are still a considerable number of unmarried women in great need of comfortable, home-like lodgings for a reasonable price."

  "You're a good deal like your father, Miss Bennett. He could charm the birds from the trees but, as you know, his ideas rarely bore fruit."

  "I am not my father," she said, anger rising inside her breast. "I am not prone to drinking, gambling, or womanizing. I am interested only in carving a good life for myself in Silver Spur."

  Muldoon sprang from his chair and looked out the window behind his desk. "Dang it!" he said, patting the back of his neck with his handkerchief. "I know I saw someone peekin' through this window."

  "A thief?" Caroline asked, aghast at the thought.

  Muldoon took his seat once again. "A busybody, more'n likely, or Old Tom. Everybody in town wants to know everybody else's business."

  "All of my personal information is on that sheet of paper I gave to you. I have no secrets, Mr. Muldoon."

  Muldoon stretched back in his seat and laced his fingers together, handkerchief flapping between them like a flag of surrender. "What you also don't have, Miss Bennett, is collateral."

  "There's the Crazy Arrow," she said, rummaging in her small bag for the deed even though he sat there, shaking his head. Was the man mad? Surely the Crazy Arrow was worth more in timber alone than the cost of renovating the dining room and furnishing the bedroom suites. "I should think that would be collateral enough for any improvements I might make to the building itself."

  Muldoon shifted uncomfortably. "There's a great deal to be considered, Miss, things that go beyond money."

  "This is a bank, Mr. Muldoon. What considerations besides money could there possibly be?"

  Again that surreptitious glance over his shoulder and for a moment Caroline almost imagined she saw Jesse Reardon lurking behind the bushes. Ridiculous! If ever there was a man less inclined to lurk in the bushes, it was Jesse Reardon.

  Muldoon's fingers arched in a graceful church steeple. "This is...ah...a very delicate topic to broach with you, but it is perhaps not in the bank's best interest to grant you a loan. There is another lending institution across the street but I—"

  "If my father had any debts outstanding at the time of his death, I will do my utmost to see to it that they are satisfied."

  "You're a fine young woman, Miss Bennett, and that gesture is appreciated but the fact remains that Silver Spur is a man's town and doing business with a female wouldn't be a popular notion."

  "Not popular with whom?"

  "I...I am not at liberty to divulge such information."

  She began pulling her gloves back on with sharp, angry movements. "Jesse Reardon."

  Muldoon looked up at her. "Beg pardon, Miss?"

  "I said Jesse Reardon. He is at the bottom of this, is he not?"

  The red flush on Muldoon's face was a dead giveaway. "I've said no such thing."

  "You didn't have to." She rose from her chair. "I believe you are making a grievous error, Mr. Muldoon."

  He stood up and rounded his desk to show her from his office. "I hope you realize this in no way reflects upon your person or character, Miss Bennett. This is purely a business decision. This town has had a gut-full of females. If I do business with one, this bank wouldn't last until year's end."

  "Oh, I understand," she said as he opened the door, "and I guarantee that one day you will come to me and admit your mistake."

  "You're an odd gal, Miss Bennett. More like your pa than I first realized."

  Caroline was unsure if that was a compliment but was disinclined to pursue the matter. With a nod in his direction she sailed past the curious bank clerks and out into the street.

  The sun was straight overhead; heat blazed right through the soles of her shoes, reminding her of childhood tales of Lucifer stoking coal in Hades. Hades was exactly where Jesse Reardon belonged. She could easily imagine him lurking below the bank window, brandishing a pistol in an attempt to intimidate the Muldoon.

  Two more hours until the stagecoach lumbered into town. She had to come up with something, some tangible reason to hope her plans for the Crazy Arrow were at least possible or asking Abby and the girls to stay in Silver Spur would be terribly unfair.

  She glanced up the street. The Howell Bank was nowhere near the size of the Free Man's but it seemed to Caroline she was in no position to be particular. She hurried toward it, ignoring the lascivious looks from a group of grizzled prospectors and aging cowboys cooling their heels under the awning of the King of Hearts Saloon.

  How could Muldoon not see what was before his very eyes? For every miner quaffing beer, there was a shopkeeper, a family man looking to provide for his wife and children. The high-pitched laughter of women chatting near the front door of Bates General Store was a counterpoint to distant gunfire and the deep rumble of horses' hooves. Not even Jesse Reardon could keep progress at bay.

  Progress was coming to Silver Spur and Caroline knew this was her last, best chance to carve a future of her own in a town beginning to rise over tapped-out silver mines and dreams of gold and glory.

  Gathering up her yellow skirts, she was about to climb the steps to the Howell Bank when she heard a loud crack nearby. In the past week she'd grown amazingly accustomed to the sound of gunfire but still she flinched. Such an imagination, she chided herself. She would almost declare she felt the whistle of the wind as a bullet raced past her ear. Pausing, she looked back at the street then caught the flash of something scarlet against the vibrant yellow of her bodice.

  "What on earth...?" The red stain was moving, shimmering, growing larger, and she touched her index finger to it and screamed as blood stained her glove.

  Two miners watched her from the street, their lined faces bland and curious.

  "Please," she managed, sagging against the railing. "I've—I've been shot."

  Still they watched her, immobile as wooden statues.

  "Call someone, please...I feel faint..."

  She sank to the top step, her head buzzing with heat and fear and the smell of gunpowder.

  You're a good deal like your father, Kevin Muldoon had said just a little while ago. How well he knew. Just like her father, she was going to die in Silver Spur and no one would even care. Heat more fiery than the sun overhead blazed through her shoulder and she closed her eyes against the onslaught. Had Aaron known what was happening when that bullet found him? Had he known the coppery taste of fear and betrayal as the blood slowly left his body?

  She wondered if it would take a long time to die.

  "Takes as long as it takes," said a familiar male voice, "but you ain't going any time soon. That crazy prospector's a known bad shot."

  Her eyes opened and she found herself looking up at Jesse Reardon.

  "What...how did you know what I was thinking?" she managed, her voice trembling despite herself.

  "You weren't thinking," he said, leaning so close to her she could smell both leather and spice on his skin. "You said it right out loud, plain as anything."

  She held back a whimper when he touched the spot just below her shoulder where the blood was seeping but she could not k
eep from flinching when he started to unbutton the bodice of her once-beautiful Worth dress in full view of a score of disreputable looking men.

  "No," she said, her voice little more than a whisper. "Please, don't..."

  His gaze held hers for the time it took her heart to resume beating then he swept her up into his arms, uncaring that her blood would stain his fine white shirt.

  "That shoulder's gotta be cleaned out," he said, heading down the stairs and pushing past the crowd of curious bystanders. "You could get lead poisoning soon as not."

  "The bullet...is it still there?"

  His laugh caused his chest to rumble most pleasantly against her.

  "Darlin', if the bullet were still there, you probably wouldn't be here. Surface wound is all you got, but you're askin' for trouble if you don't take care of it now."

  Suddenly it seemed as if the world tilted on its axis and she closed her eyes to stop the frantic spinning. "Rest your head on my shoulder," Jesse Reardon said.

  "No, thank you," she managed. "I am quite fine."

  His muscles rippled with his shrug. "Up to you."

  He slowed his pace a fraction and she found the dizziness abating, thank the good Lord, for she would rather risk lead poisoning than the embarrassment of letting Jesse Reardon see her any more vulnerable than she already was.

  She opened her eyes and saw the Crazy Arrow pass by on her right. "Where are you taking me?"

  "To check on that shoulder."

  "Abby can check on it when I return to the Crazy Arrow."

  He snorted. "You gals are lucky you got bedsheets in that barn."

  "Don't you dare take me into some godforsaken saloon, Mr. Reardon."

  "Don't worry," he said. "I wouldn't think of it."

  The painted scarlet-and-gold sign of the Golden Dragon fluttered overhead as Reardon climbed the wooden steps.

  "I cannot go in there!" Caroline protested as he strode inside as bold as if he owned the place. "My reputation will be ruined!"

  Jesse laughed. "Darlin', your reputation was ruined the day you showed up at Silver Spur."

  Caroline couldn't help gaping like a country fool at the cut-crystal chandeliers tinkling in the gaming parlors and the women dressed in shimmering beads and exotic plumes that sparkled in the light.