Twin of Fire

  Both guards stared up at her. There was something quite intimidating about a six-foot-tall woman atop a seventeen-hand-high black stallion that was prancing so high its ironclad hoofs showed. Even though they were separated from the animal by a heavy wooden gate, the men stepped back when the horse jerked its head and did a half turn.

  “Did you hear me? Open the gate.”

  “Now, wait a minute—,” one of the guards began.

  The other guard punched him in the ribs. “Sure thing, Miss Fenton,” he said, as he pulled aside the gate for her, then jumped back as she went charging through.

  “The mine owner’s daughter,” the guard was explaining behind her.

  Pamela rode directly to the entrance of the mine shaft, the horse’s hoofs kicking up a cloud of coal dust. “I want to see Rafferty Taggert,” she said, holding the horse on a tight rein, its eyes rolling wildly. “Where is he?”

  “On shift,” someone said. “Tunnel number six.”

  “Then bring him up. I want to see him.”

  “Now, see here—,” a man said, stepping forward.

  Another man, older, pushed his way toward the nervous horse. “Good mornin’, Miss Fenton. Taggert’s below, but I’m sure that, for you, someone can bring him up.”

  “Do that,” she said, with a hard pull on the reins to further assert her dominance over the big animal. With a curled lip, she looked about the coal camp, at the dirt, the poverty. When she was a child, her father had insisted she accompany him to this place, to show her where their wealth came from. Pam had looked at everything and said, “I think we’re poor.”

  The place still disgusted her. “Saddle a horse for him and have it waiting. I’ll meet him by the bend in Fisherman’s Creek.” She had to wait while the stallion made a full turn before she could look at the mine supervisor. “And if he’s docked even a penny, you’ll hear about it.” With that, she let the horse have its head and tore back through the camp, cinders flying behind her.

  She didn’t have to wait long for Rafe. The name of Fenton might have evil connotations for some people but those who worked for Fenton Coal and Iron jumped when a Fenton spoke.

  Rafe sat on a mangy horse much too small for his big body. His face and clothes were black with coal dust, but the whites of his eyes showed his anger. “Whatever you want takes first place, doesn’t it? Princess Fenton gets whatever she demands,” he said as he dismounted, looking her squarely in the eyes.

  “I don’t like that place.”

  “Nobody does, it’s just that some of us have to earn a livin’.”

  “I didn’t come to fight you. I have something important to tell you. Here.” She handed him a bar of soap and a wash cloth. “Don’t look so surprised. I’ve seen coal dust before.”

  With one more glare at her, he took the soap and cloth, knelt by the stream and began to lather his face and hands. “All right, tell me why you want me.”

  Pam sat down on a flat rock, stretching her long legs toward him. Her tall, hard, black hat made her seem even taller than she was, but the little black veil gave her face a look of mystery and femininity.

  “When I was seven years old, my father lost the duplicate key to his private desk drawer. I found it and put it in my treasure box. When I was twelve, I discovered what the key opened.”

  “And you’ve been spying ever since.”

  “I keep myself informed.”

  He waited, but she said nothing else. When he turned, his face clean, she handed him a towel. “So what have you found out?”

  “My father hired Pinkerton men months ago to find out who’s bringing unionists into the coal camps.”

  Rafe took his time drying his forearms. They were muscled from years of wielding a sledgehammer. “So, what have your Pinkertons found?”

  “Not my Pinkertons, my father’s.” She picked a flower of Queen Anne’s lace from beside her and toyed with it. “First of all, they found that four young women of Chandler, all from prominent families, are disguising themselves as old women and bringing illegal goods into the camp. Illegal being anything that my father doesn’t make a profit on.” She looked up at him. “One of the women is your nephew’s new wife.”

  “Houston? That fragile little…” He drifted off. “Does Kane know?”

  “I doubt it, but then I’d have no way of knowing, would I?” She watched him intently. When both she and Kane had been quite young, they’d had an affair that they’d thought was their secret love, but in truth had been the hottest gossip of the town. When she’d met Kane’s Uncle Rafe, weeks ago at the twins’ wedding, he’d seemed to her to have all the characteristics of Kane that she’d liked, but Rafe also had a gentle side that she’d never seen in the younger man. For days after the wedding, she’d hoped he’d call her or send her a note, but he’d made no effort to contact her. The damned Taggert pride! she’d cursed. And it made her wonder why a man like Rafe worked in a coal mine. There had to be a reason why. He wasn’t married, wasn’t under the burden of a family to support.

  “Why do you stay here?” she asked. “Why do you put up with that?” She nodded toward the road that led up to the mine.

  Rafe took a rock in his hand and tossed it, looking out over the little stream. “My brothers were here and Sherwin was dying. He had a wife and daughter to feed and wouldn’t take help from me or anyone else.”

  “Taggert pride,” she murmured.

  “I went to your father and agreed to work if he’d give my salary to Sherwin. Your father likes to have Taggerts grovelling for his money.”

  She ignored his last remark. “That way, Sherwin kept his pride and you got to help your brother. What did you get out of it besides a permanent cramp in your back from four-foot-tall ceilings?”

  He looked up at her. “It’s only for a few years—or was. My brother and his daughter have gone to live with Kane and Houston.”

  “But you stay.”

  Rafe looked back at the stream and didn’t answer.

  “The Pinkerton report said there were three suspects who could be bringing the unionists in. One was a man named Jeffery Smith, the second was Dr. Leander Westfield and the last was you.”

  Rafe didn’t look at her or speak, but his hand clutched and unclutched a rock.

  “You don’t have anything to say?”

  “Are the Pinkertons working as miners?”

  “I doubt if they wear uniforms,” she said sarcastically.

  He stood. “If that’s all you have to say, I need to get back to work. I guess you don’t know which men are the Pinks?”

  “Not even my father knows,” she said, standing beside him. “Rafe, you can’t go on doing this. You don’t have to stay here. I can get you a better job if you want—any kind of job.”

  He gave her a look from narrowed eyes. “Call it Taggert pride,” he said, as he started for his borrowed horse.

  “Rafe!” she caught his arm. “I didn’t mean—.” She stopped and dropped her arm. “I wanted to warn you. Maybe you don’t like the way I did it, and maybe you don’t like my father’s name, but I wanted to give you a chance to decide what you want to do. My father can be a ruthless man when he wants something.”

  He didn’t move or speak, and when she looked up at him, he was looking at her in a way that made her heart jump into her throat. Without conscious thought, she stepped forward into his arms.

  His kiss was slow and gentle and she felt as if she’d been looking for this man all her life.

  “Meet me here tonight,” he whispered. “Midnight. Wear something easy to get out of.” With that, he mounted his horse and was gone.

  Chapter 31

  After the horror of the morning, and then seven hours of mending the young men who’d been hurt in the stampede, Blair was exhausted. She was so tired that she didn’t even get angry when Lee received one of his calls that made him ride out without telling anyone where he was going.

  At dusk, she started the drive home, stopping off at the telegraph office to send
her friend, Dr. Louise Bleeker, a message:

  NEED YOU STOP HAVE MORE WORK THAN I CAN HANDLE STOP COME IMMEDIATELY STOP PLEASE BLAIR

  At home, ignoring Mrs. Shainess’s protests, Blair refused to eat any supper and fell onto the bed, fully clothed, at eight o’clock.

  She was awakened by the sound of someone struggling with the bedroom door.

  “Lee?” she called, and there was no answer. She got up from the bed, went to the door and opened it. Leander stood there with his shirt dirty, torn, bloody. “What’s happened?” she asked, instantly alert. “Who’s been hurt?”

  “I have,” Lee said hoarsely and staggered into the room.

  Blair felt her stomach fly into her throat and, for a moment, she just stood there and watched as he staggered toward the bed.

  “You’re going to have to help me,” he said, as he started to pull off his shirt. “I don’t think it’s bad, but it’s bleeding a lot.”

  Blair recovered herself in a rush. She took her medical bag from the closet floor, removed scissors and began to cut away Lee’s shirt. She propped his arm on her shoulder and looked at the wounds. There were two long bloody furrows close together on his right side, tearing the skin away from his side, in one place exposing the ribs. She’d seen enough bullet wounds to recognize them as such. Since he’d bled a great deal, she didn’t think there would be an infection.

  Her mouth was dry when she spoke. “It needs cleaning,” she said, as she began to remove instruments and disinfectant. Her hands were shaking badly.

  “Blair,” Lee said, and the only sign he gave that he was in pain was the sound of his ragged breathing. “You’re going to have to help me more than this. I think the men who shot at me suspect who I am. I think they may come here to arrest me.”

  Blair was so intent on his wound that she didn’t quite understand what he was saying. It was the first time she’d ever worked on someone she loved—and she hoped she’d never have to do it again. She was beginning to sweat and her hair was plastering itself to her forehead.

  Lee put his hand under her chin to make her look at him. “Are you listening to me? I think there will be some men here in a few minutes, and I want them to think that I’ve been here all night. I don’t want them to think that I’ve been shot at.”

  “And hit,” she managed to rasp out, as she finished cleaning the wounds and began to bandage him. “Who are these men?”

  “I…I’d rather not say.”

  She was worried and afraid because he was hurt, but part of her was becoming angry that he’d ask for her help, but not tell her what she was helping him do. “They’re Pinkerton men, aren’t they?”

  At least, she had the satisfaction of seeing the look of total surprise on Lee’s face. “You may think I don’t know anything, but I know more than you think.” She put the last of the bandages around his ribs. “If you move about much, it’ll start bleeding again.” Without another word, she went to the closet and withdrew the gown and robe that she’d worn on her wedding night, then hurriedly stripped and dressed in it. Lee sat on the bed and watched her, obviously not sure what she was going to do next.

  “We’ll see how much time we have,” she said as she pitched him a clean shirt. “Can you get into that by yourself? I need to hang upside down.”

  Lee, in too much pain, too shocked at what Blair had already said to him, did not question her, but tried his best to stuff his injured body into the shirt, while Blair hung herself head down across the bed.

  They both froze when the pounding on the door downstairs started.

  Blair stood. “Take your time. I’ll keep them occupied for as long as I can.” Quickly, she glanced into the mirror and ruffled her hair in a becoming way. “How do I look?” she asked, as she turned back to him. Her face was flushed from hanging upside down, and her hair was down about her shoulders in a pretty disarray. She looked for all the world like a woman who had just been made love to.

  Blair was surprisingly calm when she reached the front door to the house. When she opened it, there were three big, mean-looking men standing there and they rushed past her into the house.

  “Where is he?” one of the men demanded.

  “I can go with you,” Blair said. “I’ll just get my bag.”

  “We don’t want you,” said the second man. “We want the doctor.”

  Blair stood on the second step, so that she was above eye level with the men. “You will get what there is,” she said angrily. “I have had about all I can take of this town. Whether you believe it or not, I am a doctor just as my husband is, and if you need help, I can give it. Leander is very tired and he needs his rest, and I assure you that I can sew a wound quite as well as he can. Now that that is settled, I’ll get my bag.” She turned to go up the stairs.

  “Wait a minute, lady, we ain’t here for no doctorin’. We’re here to take your husband to jail.”

  “Whatever for?” she asked, turning back to them.

  “For bein’ where he ain’t supposed to be, that’s what.”

  Blair took a step down toward them. “And when was this?” she asked softly.

  “About an hour ago.”

  Slowly, with great show, Blair began to tuck her hair into some semblance of order. Most of the time, she wasn’t concerned with how she looked, but right now, she wanted to look as seductive as she could. She let the gown fall a little bit off one shoulder, and she began to smile at the men. “Sirs, one hour ago my husband was with me.”

  “You got any proof of that?” one of the men asked. The other two were looking at her with their mouths slightly open.

  “Absolutely none.” She smiled graciously. “Of course, I am giving the word, of a Chandler in a town named for my father. Perhaps, if you’d like to challenge what I say…” She blinked innocently as the men looked up at her.

  “I don’t think they’d like to do that, dear,” said Lee from behind her. His face was flushed and he looked tired—but then, so would a man who’d just made vigorous love to his wife. “I believe I heard you say that I was somewhere else an hour ago.” He moved to stand beside Blair and, to the men below, she must have looked as if she were leaning against him, but in truth she was supporting him.

  For a few moments, there was silence in the dark little house, and Blair and Lee held their breaths as the men paused, glaring up at them. Finally, the man who was the leader gave a sigh. “You may think you’ve tricked us, Westfield, but you haven’t. We’ll get you yet.” He looked at Blair. “You wanta keep him alive, you better keep him at home.”

  Neither Blair nor Lee said a word as the men left the house, slamming the door behind them. Blair ran down the stairs to lock the door, and as she turned back, she saw that Lee was growing paler. She hurried up the stairs and helped him to bed.

  Blair didn’t sleep anymore that night. After she got Lee to bed, she sat by him, watching his every breath as if he might stop breathing if she weren’t there to protect him. Whenever she thought of how close those bullets had come to his heart, she began shaking again, and she clutched his hand harder.

  He slept fitfully, a couple of times opening his eyes and smiling at her, then sleeping again.

  Blair’s emotions ranged from terror that he’d come so close to death, to a realization of how much she loved him, to fury that he was doing something that could possibly get him killed.

  When the early morning light filtered into the room, Lee awoke at last and tried to sit up. Blair opened the curtains.

  “How do you feel?” she asked.

  “Stiff, sore, raw, hungry.”

  She tried to smile at him, but her lips wouldn’t work properly. Every muscle in her body ached from having been held rigid all night. “I’ll bring you some breakfast.”

  She gathered up the bloody rags and Lee’s shirt to take downstairs with her. One good thing about a doctor’s house was that no one would notice a trash barrel full of blood-soaked rags.

  It was too early yet for Mrs. Shainess, so Blair fried
half a dozen eggs for the two of them, cut inch-thick slices of bread and filled big mugs full of cool milk. She carried the big tray upstairs, and when she found Lee already out of bed and half dressed, she said nothing but began to set the little table by the window.

  Lee painfully sat in the chair and began to eat while Blair sat across from him and moved her food about on her plate.

  “All right,” Lee said. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

  Blair took a drink of milk. “I have no idea what you mean.”

  He took her hand. “Look at you. You’re shaking as badly today as you were yesterday.”

  She jerked her hand away. “I guess you’re planning to go to the hospital today.”

  “I have to show up. I have to pretend that nothing’s happened. I can’t let people know where I was last night.”

  “Not anyone,” she spat at him as her fist came down on the table, and the next moment she was on her feet. “Look at you, you can barely sit up, much less stand in surgery all day. And what about your patients? Can you wield a scalpel accurately? Where were you last night? What is worth risking your life for?”

  “I can’t tell you that,” he said, as he turned back to his eggs. “I would, but I can’t.”

  Tears began to close her throat. “Yesterday, you were furious with me because I’d risked my life. You ordered me to stop risking it, but now the tables are turned, and I’m not allowed the same rights. Same! I’m not even allowed to know what I may lose my husband for. I’m just to be a good girl and stay home and wait and, if he comes home bleeding, I’m to patch him. I’m allowed to flirt with Pinkerton men in the middle of the night, but I don’t know why. I’m allowed to watch you suffering, but for what I don’t know. Tell me, Lee, do you shoot back on these forays? Are you in a kill or be killed situation? Do you murder as many people as you repair?”

  Lee kept his head down, eating deliberately and slowly. “Blair, I’ve told you all I can. You’re going to have to trust me.”

  For a moment, she turned away, trying to control her tears. “That’s what a good little wife would do, wouldn’t she? Sit at home and wait and ask no questions. Well, I’m not a good little girl! I’ve always been defiant. I’ve always been a participator and not an observer. And right now, I want to know what I’m participating in.”