She sniffed the air, remembering the kerosene. Padding to the dark corner, she peered at the open tin. She knew she’d closed it after filling the lamps. It wasn’t the kind of thing she’d forget to do.
Voices sounded from up the street, drawing their attention away from the fuel. Torchlight played off the glass of the storefront window, and a second later Matt Robinson’s concerned eyes peered through the glass. Two others huddled beside him, their guns drawn.
Crockett opened the door. “What’s wrong?”
“We was just about to ask you—er, Mrs. Crockett—the same thing.” Matt eyed Crockett’s rumpled clothes and the blood trickling from his temple. “We heard shots.”
“Just an accident.” Crockett retrieved her father’s pepperbox from the floor. “Miss Denning—Kate, I mean, was cleaning her pistol.”
“At two in the mornin’?” Matt cocked a tawny brow at the both of them. It was clear he didn’t believe it. “You two okay?”
“Fine,” they both said in a strained show of unity.
Matt Robinson wasn’t buying any of it, but the cautionary look in Crockett’s eyes kept him from probing further.
“That’s that, then.” Matt tipped his hat to her. “We’ll be gettin’ back to bed.” As he turned to leave, he shot Crockett a wicked grin. “So, ya decided not to go, after all.”
Crockett’s face hardened. He grunted some unintelligible response and kicked the door shut behind them.
Kate had had enough.
In a confrontational pose that had always garnered excellent results when questioning her brothers, she crossed her arms over her chest and tipped her chin at him. Crockett looked at her as if she were some mildly amusing annoyance.
“What now?” she said.
His gaze flashed on her bare feet. “I think it’s time we both got some sleep. I’ll just—”
“No. I want to know why you’re back, and exactly what your intentions are.”
He stared at her for a full ten seconds before answering, those black eyes fixed on hers. By God, if he thought he was going to intimidate her, let him think again.
“My reasons are my own business,” he said evenly. “As for my intentions…” He broke their deadlocked stare. “It’s a month till the next steamer north. You need protection, and I could use more cash. I’ll stay and work the store, until we both make enough to get the hell out of here.”
He wasn’t asking her, he was telling her. And there was something about his tone, a certain overconfidence, that she didn’t like.
“I don’t need protection.”
He twirled her father’s pistol around his little finger and cast a glance at the jimmied door latch. “All right. Suit yourself. I’ll be gone in the morning.” He slammed the pistol on the counter and turned to leave.
“Wait. I—”
There were a dozen good reasons she should boot him out and slam the door behind him. And a dozen more why she shouldn’t, not the least of which was the fact that he was right. She did need protection. And it might not hurt to have a man around, either. Much of the store’s stock was so heavy, the mining equipment in particular, she couldn’t lift it even with Mei Li’s help.
He looked at her, one dark brow arched in question, his hand on the broken door latch.
“I…I guess that would be all right,” she said. “But the cabin’s too small for us both. You’ll have to sleep outside.”
In Dublin she’d lived with her father and four brothers crowded into a basement flat smaller than this by half. The cabin was a palace by comparison.
No matter. It was just a tiny lie. One of many, she suspected, she’d be forced into over the next month. She’d save them all up and when she got home she’d have a nice long confession with her parish priest.
“That suits me fine.” Crockett yanked the door open and stepped into the night.
“Good night, then, Mr. Crockett.”
He slammed his fur hat onto his head and winced. The spot where she’d hit him had swelled to the size of an egg. “Good night Mrs. Crockett.” The words hung there between them as a bitter look twisted on his face.
She watched him as he stormed up the street, and had the gnawing feeling she was destined to burn in hell after all.
Chapter Five
Crockett’s Grocery and Dry Goods.
“Got a ring to it, don’t it?” Matt gathered up the borrowed stencils and horsehair paintbrush and stood back to admire his handiwork.
“Not particularly.” Will stared at the drying paint and ground his teeth.
The only other building he’d ever seen his family name on was built of hand-hewn granite and the finest imported marble one could buy. His mood darkened just thinking about it.
“Glad you decided to stay, Will.”
“I told you, I’m not staying. It’s just temporary.”
“Oh, right, I forgot.”
He caught Matt’s mischievous grin and was tempted to wipe it off that silly face of his.
“See ya around, then.” Matt waltzed up the street toward Cheng’s, whistling a bawdy miner’s tune.
Will swore.
Aside from the fact that he was out of his mind to have returned last night, two good things had come of it. He’d saved Dennington’s daughter’s hide. Again. And he’d foiled Landerfelt’s little plan, which gave him immense satisfaction.
He grabbed the homemade ladder leaning up against the store, swung it under his arm and started around to the back porch of the building he now owned. Before he turned the corner, he shot a glance across the street.
Landerfelt glared back at him, an unlit cigar crushed between his teeth, through the new pane of glass installed in his storefront window earlier that day. God knows where he’d got it, and what he had to pay to get it here.
On impulse, Will tipped his hat at him and smiled. Hell, yes. If he was going to be here another month, he might as well glean as much twisted pleasure out of the situation as possible.
Speaking of which…through the open side window of his new enterprise—the window he’d climbed through last night—he spied Kate behind the counter bargaining with two scraggly-looking miners.
He stowed the ladder and moved up close to the sill to watch her. Her back was to him. His gaze strayed lazily over the curve of her hips and the plump swell of her derriere.
His mind fixed on the image that had kept him awake half of last night…Kate standing in front of the lantern in her threadbare shift, the curves of her naked body silhouetted in the soft light. He recalled the feel of her struggling beneath him on the floor, her thighs pinned open by his, her breasts crushed against his chest.
Snap out of it, Crockett.
He reminded himself that their arrangement was a business deal. Not unlike the one his father had concocted with his last bride. This time the stakes were much lower, of course…a couple of steamship tickets and some cash…but the intent was the same.
To make money.
And the second Mrs. Crockett appeared to be quite good at it, from what he overheard of her dealings with her two most recent customers.
“Don’t be tellin’ me my business, now.” She placed a brass weight on the tendering scales, as