“I could ask you the same thing,” Seth drawled. “Leah said you put her out.”
Ryder hung his wet gear on the peg behind the door. “It doesn’t concern you.”
“I think it might.”
“Go home, Seth.”
“And miss this golden opportunity to make myself look good in her eyes? Never.”
“Go home, Seth. Now.”
“Or what?”
They faced each other silently until Seth said, “She laughed when I told her about you being afraid of Alice when we were young. When was the last time she laughed for you, brother?”
Ryder’s jaw tightened. “Out, or I’ll throw you out.”
Seth set down his glass then walked over to the pegs and took down his coat. “You’ll never shed your heathen beginnings. A man’s dying, yet you want to fight.”
“If the threat will get you out of here, I’ll wear the name heathen.”
Seth smiled coldly. “Well, continue playing that role, and she’ll be mine before you know it.”
The room went silent as they assessed each other once more.
Seth asked lightly, “Does she know you’re called Squaw Boy?”
White-hot anger flared up inside Ryder, but he didn’t let it show. He refused to give Seth the satisfaction. “Good night, Seth.”
A smug Seth tipped his hat and stepped out into the night.
Cecil died in the wee hours of the morning. Leah was asleep in a chair near his bed when Eloise roused her and related the sad news. Leah didn’t attempt to stem her tears. “Are you certain?”
Eloise nodded.
A solemn Leah sat down on the edge of his cot. She scanned the familiar brown face, now quiet with death. He’d been a friend, a champion, and an important part of her life. His final hours had been agonizing; but he was resting now, free of pain for an eternity. Tears blurred her eyes as she leaned down and gave his brow a final kiss good-bye. “Sleep old friend,” she whispered from her heart. “Sleep.”
Eloise came over and squeezed her shoulder sympathetically. “My pastor can do the burial if you’d like.”
“I’d appreciate that. Thanks.” Leah wiped at her tears.
Eloise told her kindly, “You go and handle your grief. I’ll take care of things in here.”
Leah nodded. She gave Cecil one last parting glance, then left the room.
Upon seeing Ryder seated alone in the dimly lit parlor, Leah struggled to pull herself together. “Where’s Seth?”
“Gone home.”
“He go of his own volition or at your insistence?”
“The latter. He wanted to stay, but he’s too much of a gentleman to cause a ruckus in a house with a dying man, so he left.”
“You, of course, have no such reservations.”
“No.”
“Well, Cecil’s dead.”
Ryder couldn’t explain it, but her pain seemed to cause him pain. Admittedly, he didn’t trust her or care one way or another about Cecil Lee’s death, but nonetheless he found himself moved by her very visible grief.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
“Thought you might need someone.”
Even as his words touched her, Leah wiped at her eyes with the heels of her hands. She was determined not to let him add to her heartache. “And you think that someone might be you?’
“You have no one else.”
In that moment, she sensed him enter her soul. He was a man capable of taking everything that made her woman and making her his, but she doubted he’d give her that much of himself in return. She told him softly, “Ryder, please go. I already ache enough.”
The plea in her voice and the new tears spilling down her cheeks brought him to her side instead. Giving her no time to protest, he gently folded her in his arms, eased her head against his chest, and held her close. “You need this,” he whispered, “and I can give it…Go ahead, let go…”
So she did. Leah slid her arms around his waist and silently sobbed until her body shook. Losing Cecil hurt, deeply. He’d been the last of her family, the last person who’d raised her, looked out for her, loved her. And now, he, too, was gone.
Every sob of her heart tore off a piece of Ryder’s own. He didn’t care for this. Her sadness filled him, humbled him. It made him ache for the woman she was inside. If he could raise Cecil Lee from the dead, he would if only to stop her pain. But he couldn’t, so he held her and let her cry.
When the crisis eased, he picked her up and silently carried her over to Eloise’s well-worn, flowered love seat. He sat with her in his lap. No words were spoken or needed.
Leah came back to reality with her head against his heart and his arm sheltering her tenderly. He extracted a clean handkerchief from the pocket in his shirt, and she blew her nose. Sniffling, she dearly wished they could be this way all the time, for the rest of time, but knew it wouldn’t be. Unsure how this short interlude might be turned against her later, she avoided his eyes as she soundlessly left his lap. Standing with her back to him, she stammered, “Th-thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Ryder sensed the barrier going up between them again. The moment was over. The disappointment he felt was also hard to explain. “Is Eloise going to help you with the burial?”
“Yes. We haven’t talked cost or anything though.”
“I’ll handle that end.”
Leah wanted to turn and look into his eyes but forced herself not to. Why was he acting so concerned? This morning he couldn’t get her out of his sight quickly enough yet a moment ago he’d held her as if she were as precious as gold. Was he purposely trying to break her heart? Lacking the strength or the will to argue further, she simply said, once again, “Thank you. I’ll repay you.”
Ryder didn’t ask how or when; repayment wasn’t his concern. He was concerned about her however. In spite of the unfinished matters that lay between them, he preferred her feisty and fighting. This soft, vulnerable side of her made him want to provide her shelter and protection. He’d never experienced such feelings with any other woman before, and the realization was disturbing. “Is there anything else you need for the burial?”
“I’m not certain. When I talk with the pastor, I’ll see.”
Ryder stood then. “Let me know.”
“I will.”
Because he viewed her so silently for what seemed like so long, Leah thought he might have more to say. He didn’t. Instead he walked over to the door and took down his slicker. He put it on, then his hat. Turning to face her one last time, he exited, leaving her to her grief.
Cecil was buried the next day. Eloise’s pastor, a young Methodist minister named James Garrison, read the words. Leah paid for everything out of the money she’d been given by Ryder the day she left Sunrise. Standing over the grave with Leah were Eloise, Sam, and Seth. Ryder didn’t attend.
The ride back from the cemetery in Seth’s carriage was a silent one. Behind her black veil Leah’s eyes were red and swollen from grief. She hadn’t been in Colorado a week, yet it felt like a lifetime.
Seth looked her way and said, “Do you know what you’re going to do?”
“Besides going back East, no.”
There was silence for a moment. He then asked, “When are you leaving?”
“Soon as I can.”
“Wish you’d stay.”
Leah shook her head. “There’s nothing here for me, Seth.”
And there wasn’t. This ill-fated trip had cost her her innocence and taken Cecil from her life. She had nothing left to give.
“You’re wrong about there not being anything here. I’m here, Leah.”
Leah didn’t want to discuss that. “I need to go by your aunt’s and retrieve Cecil’s things.”
Seth scanned her face for a moment. “Leah, I—”
She placed a quieting hand on his arm. “Please, not now, okay?”
He held her eyes for a moment, then nodded his acquiescence. “We’re not too far from Aunt Helene’s. Do yo
u want to do it now, or wait a few days?”
“No, let’s do it now.”
In reality, Leah wanted to handle the matter now; she didn’t want ever to have to darken Helene’s doorway again.
When they reached the house, Mrs. France opened the door. She looked at Leah, and said genuinely, “Sorry for your loss, Mrs. Montague.”
“Thank you. I’ve come to get his things.”
“Of course.” As Mrs. France stepped back to let them enter, Helene walked into view.
“Afternoon, Aunt Helene,” Seth said quietly.
She returned her nephew’s greeting with a smile. The thick white face powder made her look ghostly. “How was the funeral service?”
“Fine,” Seth responded. “Leah wants to get Cecil’s things.”
“Help yourself.”
Leah started toward the stairs, but stopped when Helene called out softly, “You know, Leah, my sister died much the same way as Cecil. Pain, facial paralysis, seeing everything greenish yellow. In the end her organs collapsed, and her heart stopped. The doctors thought it was something she ate, too, but I knew better.”
Leah looked back over her shoulder. “What are you saying?”
“That my sister was poisoned. At the time I swore it was Louis, but he’s dead, so what evil have you reawakened by coming back and resurrecting his memory?”
“Aunt Helene!” Seth snapped.
Helene bowed her head to her nephew mockingly. “Just the musings of an old woman, nothing more.”
Seth told Leah, “Come, let’s get done so we can go.”
He ushered her up the steps, but as Leah looked back she saw Helene watching her with emotionless blue eyes.
Because they hadn’t been in Denver very long, Cecil, like Leah, hadn’t had time to unpack most of his things. As a result, there was very little to gather up. Leah placed his shaving kit and a few odd items of clothing into a carpetbag and Seth began taking the trunks out to his carriage. Leah went over to the small writing table and opened its lone drawer, to make sure they hadn’t left anything behind. A telegraph message lay inside. Picking it up, she read:
ARE PRAIRIE DOGS ON THE JUDICIAL BENCH IN COLORADO. NO LEGAL PRECEDENT FOR THIRTY-YEAR JUDGMENT. NONE. WILL CONSULT COLLEAGUES. RADDOCK.
When Seth came back in, a shaken Leah handed him the note. “Read this.”
Seth did. His surprise mirrored Leah’s. “Does this mean you may get the estate back?”
“I’ve no idea.” Cecil must have wired the old judge. It was just like him not to give up, she thought bittersweetly. He probably hadn’t mentioned it because he’d been waiting for further comments from Raddock. Leah forced her breathing to slow down so she could think. She had to wire the judge first thing. She needed to know what this was about, and he needed to be informed of Cecil’s passing. “Can you take me to the telegraph office?”
“Sure can.”
“Now?”
“Help me get the rest of this out to the buggy, and we’ll be on our way.”
Ten minutes later, they were headed for Denver.
Unlike the tents, shanties and crude shacks put up by the miners during the gold rush years of 1858 and 1859, Denver of 1886 was as built up and as bustling as any big city back East. There were competing newspapers, opera houses, fine hotels that served oysters and champagne; churches, a library, a bookstore, and the US Mint. Gone were the raucous days of the past when gamblers at the Denver House kept the six gaming tables going twenty-four hours a day in order to fleece the miners out of their gold. Back then, bartenders had to arm themselves to keep the drunk and disorderly from shooting at them for sport. Guns and vigilantes were no longer the only law, and the town fathers no longer prone to betting and losing whole blocks of the city on the turn of a card, as their predecessors had done. The Denver Seth rode Leah into represented a city on the verge of greatness, a shining symbol of the new west.
When she and Seth entered the telegraph office, Leah wrote out the message and handed it to the disinterested-looking young clerk, who asked, “Do you want to wait for an answer?”
She turned questioningly to Seth. She didn’t wish to monopolize his day, especially if he had other appointments.
Seth replied to the clerk, “How long might it be?”
He shrugged. “Two, maybe three hours.”
“Well, here’s my address.” Seth handed over a calling card. “We’ll check back here in a couple of hours or so after lunch. If it arrives after that, send someone around to deliver it.”
Seth then reached into his pocket of his well-tailored brown suit and gave the clerk a few coins. “For the delivery and for your trouble.”
The clerk looked at the shiny coins. He now appeared more amenable to doing his job. “Thanks, and don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything.”
Seth nodded and escorted Leah out.
Ryder had had enough of the mystery surrounding Leah Montague. The tall red-haired man seated on the other side of Ryder’s desk was Pinkerton Agent George Taggart.
Taggart was taking notes. “What did you say the name of the tavern was again?”
“The Black Swan.”
“But you don’t know the name of the city?”
“No.”
The man scanned his scribblings once more. “Okay, Mr. Damien. I believe you’ve given me enough information on her to get started. If I find out she’s wanted by the law or something serious like that, I’ll wire you immediately. If not, you can expect a report soon as I’m done.”
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” The man stood and smiled. “Never worked for a half-breed before.”
Ryder burned him with an icy stare.
The Pinkerton visibly gulped. “Sorry. I-I’ll be in touch.”
“Make sure you do,” Ryder warned. “Pick up the advance on your expenses from my clerk outside. Good day, Mr. Taggart.”
Taggart’s face was as red as his hair, his exit hasty.
In the silent aftermath, Ryder mused over what he’d just set into motion. He was certain she’d throw a fit were she to learn he was having her investigated, but it was something he should have done the day they met. He could still remember how beautiful she’d looked standing on the platform of that fancy railroad car and how surprised he’d been seeing her there. Little did he know she’d become the one thing he couldn’t allow himself to have.
Ryder stood up and walked over to the windows. Now that she’d buried Cecil Lee, he assumed she would be heading back East as soon as the arrangements could be made, but he didn’t care if the report came in after she was gone. He needed to know.
He looked down on the busy street below. Had Louis sent her here as a cruel joke, his final flourish in the tragic opera that was his life?
How could she have been a virgin? That question continued to plague him, haunt him. And what if she were carrying his child? Although his penetration of her hadn’t lasted long, it didn’t take long for a man’s seed to establish itself. Overwhelmed, he ran his fingers through his long black hair and decided to put off thinking about that portion of the equation for now. If she were with child, he’d address the matter when the time came. Right now he needed to find out who she was and what she was. Especially after last night. Holding her while she cried opened up spaces within himself he didn’t even know he had, spaces that seemed to echo with emptiness once he turned her loose. As if that weren’t enough, he’d dreamt of her last night and awakened this morning hard and thick with lust; he’d had hot, sultry, erotic dreams whose memories made his manhood stir even now.
Pushing her out of his mind, he vowed to keep his distance from her until the Pinkerton filed his report. There would be no more holding her or arguing with her or wanting her in his bed. Dreams or no dreams, he needed the truth.
Ryder checked his watch. He didn’t usually leave the office until early evening, but today he needed air. Feeling like a caged puma, he grabbed his coat and hat. Maybe getting something to eat would help st
eady his mood.
As he headed down the crowded walk, Ryder remembered a time when these same streets held nothing but miners, Indians, and gamblers. Back then you only needed three fingers to count the homes or businesses with glass windows or wooden floors. Now there wasn’t a shop or a business that didn’t have glass, and people were everywhere. The place was so built up old-timers were complaining about not being able to find their way around, and gold was the reason. After the first gold strike, thousands of Easterners descended upon the area—five hundred a day at the height of the rush, bringing with them grass-killing wagons, tree-killing axes, and their versions of civilization and decency. They turned what had been home for the Arapaho, Utes, and Cheyenne into something his ancestors would no longer recognize. Manifest Destiny, is what his professors up in Minnesota had called the conquering of the land and its Native peoples; the American pioneers felt the Creator had given them dominion over everything; it was their destiny to rule, and anything or anyone ignorant enough to get in their way would be mowed down like locusts swarming over the plains.
The Arapaho had found that out, as had the Cheyenne, their Sioux cousins, and every other tribe who’d been living on the continent for countless generations before the Spaniards first sailed ashore. The West was now being civilized. Gone were the buffalo and the herds of elk. The traditional songs sung by his grandmother could no longer be heard. The male descendants of Chiefs Black Elk and Roman Nose would never count coup, or wear the black-feathered headdress of the Cheyenne Dog Soldiers. Everything they’d valued, cherished, and loved had disappeared like puffs of smoke, just as the legendary Cheyenne prophet Sweet Medicine had predicted, but no one had listened.
Ryder shook off the bitter memories of the past. They wouldn’t help his mood. He instead focused his attention on walking to the diner.
Since it was extremely difficult for Blacks to get a seat or be served in the city’s White diners and restaurants, Seth took Leah to lunch at a place in the city’s Black district. The small, wood-framed house was painted a sunny yellow and had a sign above the porch which read: DINAH’S DINER.