Читать книгу White Water Passion - Dawn Luedecke - Страница 9

Chapter 2

The eerie shadows of Nana’s front passageway screamed into the silence of the night. The silvery moonlight illuminated the small windows near the door and gave Beth enough light to know her brother was not where he said he’d be. She hated tardiness. Which unfortunately exemplified the very essence of her carefree brother. Deliberately late to everything, and commanding the attention of whatever room he entered.

It wasn’t until ten minutes past nine that Simon sauntered down the stairs as if he had not a care in the world.

“Nana went to bed at eight-thirty.”

“First off, little sister, men never act like spoiled young women. They aren’t young ladies of the first water.” Simon gestured to Beth’s hands, faintly illuminated by the small sliver of light. “Behavior like that is not manly. If you want people to believe you, you’ve got to forget all your feminine habits. Or we can simply go upstairs and forget you ever blackmailed me.”

Beth dropped her arms and glared at her brother. “If you would do things on time, I wouldn’t be forced to act this way.”

“Is that my new vest?” He reached out and plucked a kerchief from the inside pocket. “You may want to avoid any hankies you find.”

“Uck!” She adjusted the oversized shirt beneath the vest, and smoothed the material where the inner pocket sat. She didn’t even want to think of what had been on that cloth.

Simon brushed past her and opened the door. “Perhaps you should stay home. In bed. Like the decent young woman Nana raised you to be.”

“Stop beatin’ the devil around the stump,” she said in a masculine drawl. “I am going, and you will take me or I’ll spill all that I know.”

“Your attempt at manly repartee is worse than your new wardrobe. I’m taking you out tonight as a good-faith gesture, and nothing more. If the mayor found out about my affair, there’s no telling what he’d do to me. Why can’t you be more like Carrie? More amiable and less trouble?”

“You’re one to talk. Half the women at Carrie’s tea a week ago spent the entire afternoon avoiding eye contact with me. I can only assume it’s because of one of your exploits. You’re lucky I don’t care what they think.” She followed him outside and stood on the stoop. Although the clothes gave her the cover she needed, they now failed to provide comfort enough to boost her confidence. What if someone recognized her? Her heart beat faster the more she thought about what was to come. Could she pull off the ruse? She’d never so much as spit on the sidewalk, let alone tromped around in britches.

“You look much more believable in my clothes. Less like a little boy. Not that I’m encouraging this escapade in the slightest, but for us both not to be caught, I need to call you by a man’s name.”

“Brent,” she declared. “I already thought it out.” With a turn of the tarnished skeleton key she’d swiped from Nana’s armoire drawer, the lock on the front snapped into place with only a whisper of sound. Simon had already taken the stairs and was halfway down the walk by the time she’d turned around. Fort Missoula’s Fifth Infantry Regiment marched on the battlefield like boys over a schoolyard compared to the way she charged after her brother. The United States Army held nothing compared to a woman on a mission.

“Where are we going?” she hissed when she caught up to him.

“The Angry Grizzly Saloon, where we will test your manly skills.”

To say Simon sauntered through the streets would be akin to calling a hard-case man a donkey instead of an ass. An arrogant strut was a more appropriate term to describe the way her brother traversed the roads. There was no way she could strut like him, but she’d try if it meant perfecting the ruse.

She practiced Simon’s walk, which did nothing more than throw him into a fit of laughter whenever she tripped over the rutted street. Blasted man! He had something up his sleeve. The sudden compliance and the ease of his rigid shoulders after they left Nana’s house proved it. She’d seen him act this way on many occasions, and it almost always ended with him getting his way. He had formed a plan, but she suspected the result wouldn’t be in her favor. She couldn’t let him win. Not this time.

“Men really should learn to pick up their feet.” Beth followed Simon through the glass doors of the Angry Grizzly. She adjusted the restrictive chest bandage. What am I doing? No one is going to believe I’m a man.

Along the front wall, the wooden slab of the bar sat proud—the focus of at least half the patrons, most of whom already appeared to be pissed off their rockers. Card games and drinking tables dotted the room with chairs arranged haphazardly around each one. Following Simon’s nod toward a seat in the corner, Beth settled into her chair as he made his way to the bar.

A tall, dark-haired man walked up from behind and leaned on the bar next to Simon. Beth couldn’t quite see the man’s face, but her heart beat hard at the familiar form. She would know his wide shoulders and confident stance anywhere.

Garrett.

Simon glanced to his right, smiled, and shook his friend’s hand. Garrett motioned for the bar boy and called out, “Two straight Jacks.”

Garrett sent a piercing stare her way. She slid down in her chair to pull her head into the collar of her jacket like a turtle in a shell. While he’d appeared dapper this morning in his stiff jacket and crisp shirt, tonight he looked like he belonged in the woods. Downright handsome. The same as he did when she’d admired him at the end of each season. Please God don’t let him come over here. The puffy part of her lip pinched between her teeth. Would he recognize her in britches?

She willed herself to disappear while she strained to listen as her brother and Garrett talked. Alas, all she could hear was the increasingly rowdy drunk at the card table, and the gentle tinker of the off-key piano. The bartender set two beers and three shots in front of Simon, and he and Garrett downed two. Simon picked up the beer and remaining shot, and motioned toward Beth.

She tried to shrink even lower.

Garrett turned to cast a cold stare in her direction. High cheekbones set firm above his rigid jaw gave him the look of a man too refined for Montana, but the stubble on his chin and sideburns on his face proved he fit into humble society well. He looked exquisite in anything he wore.

She couldn’t help but burrow deeper into the chair while her heart beat like an ax against a tree trunk. What am I going to do if he recognizes me? She chewed her lower lip again, but stopped when she realized her mistake.

His gaze lingered longer than any man’s ever had before, and her stomach churned. Did he recognize her? Part of her wanted him to, but the other part begged the Lord above to keep her safe in her disguise.

After a brief conversation with his friend, her brother returned and set a mug of beer in front of her.

With one last glance in her direction, Garrett slid the bartender a handful of money and disappeared into a curtained room with a half-dressed woman. His tall, and quite large, figure disappeared and a strange sensation shot straight to her stomach. Almost as if she swallowed the whole bottle of the whiskey her grandmother kept hidden under her mattress for those rare nights when she couldn’t sleep. Her heart sank into that pretend pool of whiskey in her gut and began to break down. In all of her wickedest dreams, never had Garrett taken a lady of the night into his arms. He was supposed to be above such immoral behavior.

But the unease she felt in her stomach had nothing to do with spirits, and everything to do with the man who at one point in time had stolen a glance and polite greeting on a rainy, dreary day, but not so much as a word did he speak to her since. Until he’d whispered her name that morning. Or had he? His eyes locked with hers every time the end of season train would come, but he would hurry away as soon as she would turn her eyes down in the customary coy manner.

She felt slighted. How could this harlot on his arm catch his eye while he refused to even give a polite greeting to her? Not that she wished to be a lady of the night, but one real word to her was all she wished for. Was it too much to ask?

Beth slouched in her seat. Forget about him, Elizabeth Sanders. What you need to concentrate on is the saboteur.

Simon set down the shot in front of her and quirked half his mouth up in a sly smile. “Drink up. I paid the barkeep enough money to keep us well supplied tonight.”

She took a small sip of the shot, and tried desperately not to lose her supper all over the table. The liquid burned down her throat, and she coughed. Did men really drink this stuff?

The smug smile stretched even farther across her brother’s face, and he took a long drag of his foamy amber drink, and then lowered the glass. “That was Garrett. Do you remember him? He’s a timber beast too. Actually, he’s a riverman. There are only a few men in camp crazy enough to go down the river; those of us who are sane are timber beasts.”

“Do you two stay in touch when you’re in town?” Beth tested the beer. Foam tickled her nose, but the bitter, foul-smelling drink didn’t make her want to vomit.

Simon nodded while taking another large swig until half the contents of the glass were drained. Did he plan on drinking his troubles away? Good God.

“What else can you tell me about Garrett?” She peeked over the rim of her glass and drank.

Simon waved off her question. “You’ll find out for yourself tomorrow. Tonight we’re going to work on turning you into a man.”

She squinted at her brother, and then spent the next couple of hours sitting in the hard chair, pouring an oncoming slew of shots into a nearby spittoon whenever the bartender walked away and her brother got distracted. All the while trying not to stare at the curtained door where Garrett had left. While she was happy he failed to realize her true identity, somehow the room now felt empty. Tucked into the corner, and secluded from the rest of the bar, her brother began to outline the details of how to be a man. The hours grew long, and she couldn’t help but fidget as the evening ticked by with nothing but a few drunken cowhands and one rowdy game of Texas Hold ’em at the green poker table in the corner.

Late that night, Simon motioned to the door, and Beth sighed with relief. If she had to take any more of his meaningless prattling, she’d jump across the table and throttle him just for something to do.

She and Simon had always been close. After their parents had died in a carriage accident, they’d been left alone with their aging grandmother. They had learned to take care of each other. That was until he went and joined the logging company. No matter how hard he fought to make her stay, she wasn’t going to sit back and let his life be ruined by the loss of the only thing that truly made him happy: the lumber camp.

* * * *

The moonlight filtered through the clouds and illuminated the streets outside the saloon as Beth and Simon started down the dusty road. They had only gone a block before echoing laughter reached Beth’s ears. Simon clutched her arm to stop her and motioned to a couple stumbling down the street in front of them.

“Garrett,” her brother said when they drew near.

Beth tensed.

Garrett stood tall and perused her figure with disdain. Why? Just this morning he’d sported a silent yet almost welcome aura. Now, she saw nothing but contempt. Of course, she was dressed as a man. Perhaps her disguise worked better than she’d planned. Beth’s defenses slammed into place. The overly friendly harlot sidled closer to him, and he visibly relaxed. The tramp. Perhaps she was the reason his mood changed so drastically from earlier in the day.

“This is my cousin, the one I told you about.” Simon gestured toward Beth, and she snapped her thoughts back to the moment, and smiled.

Garrett studied her until her heart started to beat hard. After a tense moment, he raised his head in greeting, but kept his neck stiff with the movement. The harlot moved next to him, and he tugged her closer.

“Simon says you might be working with us this spring.” Garrett stood taller, and puffed out his chest. “It’s hard work. I suppose you might be able to man the boat. That shouldn’t be too much of an issue for you, should it? A weakling like you will only hinder the team and put himself in danger. Best to start where you won’t get injured.”

“I can handle as much as any man,” she said, barely remembering to utter the words in her deepest voice. The haze from the beer made her head buzz, and she shook it off, and deepened her voice even more. “Unlike some, I don’t need to buy women to make me feel like a man.”

The harlot huffed as if offended by Beth’s words. But why would she be? By all appearances, the woman made a living by trading favors for money. She should really learn to accept the truth of her existence.

Garrett glared, and his lips thinned.

Simon gripped her arm in a painful hold and propelled her past Garrett.

“Ouch,” she hissed.

Her brother turned back toward his friend. “Sorry, Garrett, he’s drunk.”

“Never a fool man spoke without gaining censure from the audience,” Garrett responded.

“How profound,” Beth countered, not bothering to act like the man she was supposed to mimic. She shifted her feet, and stumbled, but slid a condemning glare to the harlot pressing her breasts against his arm. “Do the ladies of the night enjoy a clever tongue, or do they prefer more sensible talk?”

Garrett furrowed his brows and stared, as if he saw through her disguise and judged her accordingly. Beth took a step back.

“If you’ll excuse us.” He turned his attention to Simon. “We need to be getting on before I knock your cousin for a loop.” He nodded a good-bye and ushered the half-dressed woman down the street.

“Sorry, Gar. Really,” Simon yelled and pushed Beth to make her walk.

She chewed on her lower lip as they hurried home. She knew better than to speak when her brother was in such a state. Simon, however, was never one to stay silent.

“What the hell was that, Elizabeth?” He growled as they marched up the steps to their home. “Garrett Jones is my friend, and the only other person in the camp who will protect you. Do not mess things up with your snippy tongue. In the future, if you’re going to get a lickin’, you’d better make it worthwhile. Half-cocked insults are not worth it, trust me.”

“I don’t like to think of any part of my anatomy as snippy. Wicked maybe, but not snippy.” She scrunched her nose, but her body swayed with the thrum of a buggy rolling past. Garrett was harder to read than a dime novel in a buggy on Mullan Road. “Garrett seems quite complicated.”

“You were a damned fool out there. And no one knows what goes on in Garrett’s head. He spent most of his time in England with a cousin who is a baronet or some such thing. You can no better read what he’s thinking than a book written with water.” He opened the front door and ushered Beth through. “Honestly, I’m surprised Garrett held back and didn’t knock you for a loop the way you spoke to him. You’re lucky he kept his head about him in front of the lady on his arm, or you’d be sporting a black eye and wounded pride before you even became a logger. You should learn to hold your tongue. For once in your life, control your impulse to cause trouble.”

“Does he behave this unreasonable at camp too? I found him to be quite impolite tonight. I certainly saw a side of him I never thought he possessed.”

“You really are daft, Lizbe. Way too priggish to pull off this scheme. You’re just a woman. Why did I let you blackmail me into this whole mess? In less than a day, we will be on our way to the logging camp where danger lurks in every corner. How the hell am I going to get through the next couple of weeks with you on my heels? No. You’re not going.”

“What are you going to do when I tell the mayor that his pretty little wife is sleeping with a lumberjack?”

“Join the permanent camp and stay up in the mountain forever, and let you fend for yourself down here. I’ll keep my neck, but lose a troublesome sister.” Simon stroked his chin. “I could grow a beard.”

She threw him a brilliant smile and turned toward the stairs. Little did he know, he didn’t have a choice. “I’m going. You’ll love having me around…you’ll see,” she tossed quietly over her shoulder as she entered her room.

“You’re not going!” Simon snapped as he walked by her door. Beth grimaced as she waited to hear movement from Nana. When nothing but the tap of Simon’s boots heading toward his room filled the air, Beth relaxed. She was going, no matter what Simon said.

* * * *

“Thank you, sir! I don’t know how we can ever repay you.” Mrs. Ballard, his housekeeper, wiped the tears from her eyes, and Garrett turned to watch as her husband steered their scantily dressed, sixteen-year-old daughter through the door to their chambers.

The girl turned and shot Garrett a look that could kill a grizzly bear. After she realized what he’d intended by buying her from the barkeep, she’d tried to flee. He had to toss her over his shoulder just to bring her the remaining block to his house.

“How did you get her to come home with you?” Mrs. Ballard dabbed at her tears with the long apron attached to her skirt.

“It wasn’t easy. She’s not going to like me for a very long time. Let’s leave it at that.” After the talking-to he gave her on the way home, he’d be surprised if she ever spoke to him again. He had divulged information that would embarrass a gentleman, let alone a young woman, but she needed to know what the world was like. How men really behaved.

“I honestly don’t know why she keeps running away. I promise we won’t let it happen again.”

“Perhaps you might consider asking her why she chooses to run around dark-alley establishments dressed as a strumpet and willing to spread her legs for any man who has the inclination,” Garrett suggested.

Mrs. Ballard responded, but he didn’t really listen. The last thing he needed was to come home from his next log run only to hunt down his servant’s troublesome daughter, yet again. God knew he had his own problems. The least of which was Simon’s two-bit cousin. Hell, with the young man’s small shoulders and weak structure, Garrett doubted he could handle the physical demands of staying on the log while it rolled down the river, let alone dislodge a blockage and fling himself into the bateau before being swept downriver in the tide of crashing logs. But Simon had cashed in a favor owed, and brought the boy to the camp.

Garrett focused once more on Mrs. Ballard as she finished chattering about her wayward daughter. Words he didn’t hear, and didn’t care to hear. “Just keep her close to home until you can figure out what to do with her.” He made his way toward the passageway door.

“We will. Promise,” Mrs. Ballard said behind him as he walked into the hallway leading to the front of the house.

He needed a nice stiff drink. The whole evening—no, the whole day—was a mess. Starting with meeting Elizabeth on the street, and ending with his housekeeper’s daughter and Simon’s cousin. What was it about the boy that made him lose the ability to breathe?

And Elizabeth. Perfect, enchanting Elizabeth. With her carefree ways and ability to talk to anyone with ease, he couldn’t seem to get out more than a word whenever she was near. She was so different from him. Throughout the years, he’d gotten to know her through her brother, and all because he was too afraid to approach her himself. She was easygoing and always happy, where he had to analyze life with a critical and pessimistic eye. She moved in the waves of life with ease, and frightened him beyond belief. God. Why had his father refused to allow her as a candidate for marriage?

Garrett had begged his father to consider Elizabeth when he’d first brought up the topic of marriage years ago after he first started at Big Mountain. But no. If he were to enter into an arrangement with Beth, his father would cut him off. And all because of the scandals. Not that she was involved in any of them, but his father didn’t care. Simon had sullied the name Sanders, and now Elizabeth was paying for it. God forbid there was a Jones with a less-than-perfect reputation.

He should go back on his word and secure Beth for his own. Live with the consequences of choosing her over the family. Stand up to his father. Tell him he was going to marry Elizabeth no matter what he said. But Garrett would lose everything. His family, his fortune, and with his father’s connections, he’d even lose his job at Big Mountain. How would he be able to support a wife and family with nothing?

No.

He couldn’t do that to her. He had to fulfill his side of the agreement. Sacrifice his chance with Beth for one last season at Big Mountain, and a life of misery with the wife of his father’s choosing.

Elizabeth.

This morning he’d wanted to ask her how her day was. Engage her in witty conversation that would leave her dreaming of him for the remainder of her day. But no. All he could get out was her name, and even then he’d barely spoken the word. Oh what a fool he became in the presence of Elizabeth Sanders.

The only sound left in his dimly lit home were his footsteps as he trudged into his study and poured a glass of bourbon, swallowing the contents in one gulp, only to refill and take the decanter with him to settle into his favorite seat by the large fireplace.

He stretched out his legs, and the leather on his over-stuffed armchair squeaked in protest as he relaxed into its comfort. He would get Elizabeth and the young cousin out of his head, or drink himself to a stupor.

A log sat in the hearth, waiting to be lit. Stretching a bit farther, he kicked it into the pit and scowled. What he should be doing was preparing for the train ride to the site. Instead, he sat brooding about the next few months. Why did the presence of Simon’s cousin irritate him so much? It wasn’t like he was the first young man to want the riverman job, so why did it matter?

He swallowed the bourbon and refilled. Best to focus on what was to come at the end of the spring—his last spring as nothing more than a logger. What was Simon going to say when he found out about the deal Garrett had made?