Brides of Iowa (20 page)

“I am.” Mr. Behr’s tone, though modulated, held the ring of authority.

Abrasive edges of puzzlement troubled Gideon. “What business would a Pinkerton have in a town the size of Willow Creek, Iowa?”

Behr tucked the wallet away. “The Chicago, Kansas and Nebraska Railroad received a most interesting letter from Mr. Roland Sewell describing some rather creative land deals Henry Kilgore was attempting to put together. Included were Mr. Kilgore’s ongoing practices of intimidating business owners and landowners in this area to sell to him at deflated prices. The railroad contacted the General Land Office in Washington, which in turn contacted our Chicago office requesting that we investigate Mr. Kilgore’s activities and gather tangible evidence of fraudulent transactions.”

Skepticism tussled with relief in Gideon’s mind. Behr seemed to use all the right words and phrases, and the identification he’d displayed moments ago bore silent testimony to the man’s explanation.

Behr interlaced his hands in front of him and cleared his throat. “I might ask you how you knew I was meeting with Mr. Kilgore and Mr. Sewell earlier today, but that’s not really important. However, I would like to prevail upon what I suspect is your sense of honor and request your assistance.”

Gideon guarded his expression while he digested Hubert Behr’s revelation of his identity.
A Pinkerton agent!
If that were truly the case, Gideon had a few questions. He steeled his eyes. “Mr. Behr, how do you explain the overheard conversations in which you indicated entering into a partnership with Kilgore?”

A slight shrug lifted Behr’s shoulders. “One of the distasteful parts of this business, young man. Sometimes the investigating agent must employ a bit of fiction before the suspect will relax enough to divulge information we need to build a case. Speaking untruths is not something to which I aspire. Unfortunately, I’ve recently found it necessary to lead Mr. Kilgore to believe my occupation is procuring land for the railroad—with a willingness to engage in private land speculation on the side.”

“And the reference to altered land grant maps?”

Behr’s bushy eyebrows arched slightly, but Gideon didn’t plan on naming Tessa as the one who overheard the conversations.

“The surveyors, as well as the cartographer hired by Mr. Kilgore, were taken into custody this morning without Mr. Kilgore’s knowledge. My agency is now in possession of the maps, which were rather masterfully revised, I must say. The forgeries appear to be quite authentic. They were the last piece of evidence I needed. All that remains now is to take Mr. Kilgore into custody.”

Gideon weighed the credibility of the man’s answer. The memory of the slight tremble in Tessa’s voice accompanying her urge for caution gave him pause. Another question nagged him.

“If all this is true, how does your offer to buy the mercantile fit in? How can I be sure you aren’t making a deal for Kilgore?”

Behr didn’t blink. “You can’t, young man. Life is full of uncertainties. That’s why God’s Word encourages us to learn wisdom and discretion.” His eyes remained fastened on Gideon, but his mustache twitched. “Even Pinkerton agents tire of adventure after a time and desire a bit of a slower pace. My investigating days are drawing to a close. I can assure you my offer is legitimate. I’ve shown my identification credentials and given an explanation. I can’t make you believe me.”

Gideon took a slow, deep breath. “Exactly what is it you’re asking me to do?”

Behr smiled. “Send word to Kilgore that you’ve changed your mind about selling the mercantile to him and you now wish to discuss a deal.”

Tessa glanced toward the door for the hundredth time since Gideon left, then she looked at the clock. Had it really only been twenty minutes since he followed Mr. Behr to the agreed-upon meeting place? Anxiety weighed in her chest where she knew faith should reside.

The scriptures she’d read in the past weeks about God’s care and protection echoed in her mind, along with her mother’s repeated admonition that God was worthy of her trust. Such trust was a choice, much like the choice she’d made months ago to survive to honor Mama’s memory.

She finished sprinkling cinnamon sugar over the top of a pan of scones and slid it into the oven. Wiping her hands on a towel, she squared her shoulders. Those days following Mama’s funeral, Tessa believed her survival depended upon herself and her own perseverance. Reading the precious words in Mama’s Bible and remembering the faith she’d learned at her mother’s knee birthed fresh understanding of God’s care. Even now she realized she could do nothing to ensure Gideon’s safety, and his well-being depended completely upon God’s grace. She whispered a prayer for God’s protection.

Her disagreement with Gideon earlier in the week made little sense now. Admittedly Gideon’s well-thought-out plan of raising farm horses in no way resembled Papa’s selfish whims. Furthermore, a man didn’t share his dreams and goals expecting rejection.

After several restless nights, understanding had dawned. Gideon confided his plans to her because they were friends. No, more than friends. He’d almost kissed her.

Every time she was in his presence, contentment warmed her and there was nowhere else she wanted to be. When she was apart from him, she ached with a longing that only his return satisfied. The times she caught him gazing at her or when he sent her a toe-curling smile, an entire colony of butterflies turned loose in her stomach. How could she deny the connection that existed between them?

Shame filled her when she remembered the hurtful words she’d carelessly tossed at Gideon’s dream. She determined to apologize for her thoughtlessness as soon as he returned. She glanced once more at the door, hoping for a glimpse of him.

Keep busy. He’ll be back in a few minutes.

Miss Pearl had requested some potato rolls to serve with her pot roast, and they were popular items in the bakery as well.
Keep busy.
She blended softened yeast into the batter, adding flour with leftover mashed potatoes until the dough became stiff. Her knuckles plunged into the dough and began the rhythmic kneading action.

“Well, well. I’d heard you and Maxwell had a cozy little arrangement here, but I wasn’t sure I believed it.”

Tessa spun around. Henry Kilgore stood in the storeroom doorway. She hadn’t heard him come in. A shudder rippled through her. “If you want to speak to Gideon, he’s not here.”

Kilgore sauntered into the storeroom, casting a disdainful perusal at the results of Gideon’s painstaking work. “I don’t need to talk to him. You’re the one I came to see. I wondered if you’d given any more thought to my offer.”

Offer? What offer? Surely he didn’t mean.… “Mr. Kilgore, I made it quite clear when I quit my job at the hotel that I had no intention of working for you in any capacity. Ever.”

Kilgore’s laugh lacked even a shred of humor. “Never say never, my dear. I’m certain you’ll come around to my way of thinking.”

Nausea swelled in her stomach, and the air she tried to drag into her lungs suddenly felt thick. “That will
never
happen. And I’m
not
your dear. You can leave now.”

He took two more steps in her direction. “I can’t leave yet. We haven’t had a chance to sit down for a nice talk. Why don’t you come over to my place, and we can discuss a business arrangement?”

Was the man deranged? Did he honestly believe he could talk her into going anywhere with him? She backed away. Panic slid its tentacles around her throat, and her stomach threatened to retch. A chill unlike anything she’d ever known invaded her bones. “Mr. Kilgore …” She hardly recognized her own voice as suffocating fear restricted her air.

Another voice bullied its way into her memory.
“You ain’t worth nothin’.”

The past few months, she’d begun to distance herself from Papa’s assessment, even daring to reject the validity of his words. But the wicked gleam in Kilgore’s eyes and the insinuation of all that his “offer” entailed brought the ugliness of her father’s ridicule crashing over her again.

She took another step backward and bumped into the corner that formed where the worktable met the wall shelves.

Kilgore closed the space between them, his scrutinizing gaze lingering on her in a most ungentlemanly way. Was this what Papa meant? Kilgore reached out and ran his fingers down one side of her face. When she jerked away from him, he seized her jaw in a cruel grip. “I’m a patient man, but I do have my limits. You’ve been in this town long enough now to know that I get what I want.” He released his hold and patted her cheek.

The prayer she’d sent heavenward for Gideon’s safety crossed her lips once more, only this time the petition was for herself. “I told you, Mr. Kilgore. I will not work in your saloon. Now please leave. Customers will be walking in here any minute.”

“No they won’t. I hung the C
LOSED
sign on the door when I came in.” A slow, sinister smile slithered across Kilgore’s face, and he stepped back. “You know what I heard? Gideon Maxwell isn’t the choirboy you think he is. In fact, the good people of Willow Creek might be interested to know that Maxwell is a regular over at the Blue Goose.”

If Kilgore’s presence hadn’t initiated such revulsion, she might have laughed at the insinuation. The very idea was preposterous. Did he think she would agree to go along with his proposition because he tried to make her believe Gideon visited his saloon? “That’s a lie! Gideon would never go there.”

Kilgore sucked on his teeth. “Maybe not, but people love a spicy story. What do you think that will do to his credibility as an honest businessman, hmm?” A smug upturn at the corner of his mouth punctuated his question.

Tears burned her eyes, and she felt sick to her stomach. “Please don’t do that to Gideon. What has he ever done to hurt you?”

All semblance of the smile faded from Kilgore’s face. “He thinks he’s better than me. Gideon Maxwell looks down his nose at me, just like his old man did. Holier-than-thou hypocrites, both of them. Just like the good people of the town where I grew up.” A vein bulged on the side of his neck, and his chest rose and fell like the bellows in Cully’s blacksmith forge. “Just because my old man was no good, all the important people in town—those fine, upstanding people who always acted like they were better than everyone else—said I had his bad blood.” A grotesque sneer disfigured his face. “Gideon Maxwell is just like them. Well, I aim to teach him that nobody toys with Henry Kilgore. I will destroy Gideon Maxwell. Unless …”

Fear rose up to strangle her once more. Even without Kilgore finishing his thought, she knew what his conditions were. He moved close to her again and wrapped his fingers around a handful of her hair. She couldn’t draw enough air to scream.

He leaned in so close she felt his hot breath on her face. “You come with me now, or I promise you, before the day is out, I’ll see to it that Gideon Maxwell’s good name and reputation are so sullied he’ll lose the respect of everyone in this town. People will spit on him just like they used to do to me. But no more.”

If Kilgore did what he threatened, the dream Gideon had shared with her a few days before would shatter at his feet. She couldn’t let that happen.

Kilgore grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the back door. “You keep your mouth shut when we step out, or so help me, you’ll wish you had.”

He pushed her out the door in front of him, and when he did so, the gingham apron she wore—Mama’s apron—caught on the hook Gideon used to latch the door at night. A ripping sound reached her ears. When she tried to rescue the garment, Kilgore clamped his fingers around her upper arm and twisted her flesh. She bit her lip to keep from crying out.

“You won’t be needing that apron anymore.” Kilgore’s hateful gloat seared her heart. Papa’s jeering words echoed in her head again, mocking the effort she’d made in the past months to live in a way to make her mother proud.

He dragged her along beside him as they stepped out from behind the telegraph office on their way across the street to the Blue Goose. When they entered the establishment, the odor of whiskey and smoke assaulted her senses. Jeering catcalls from the men leaning against the bar and indecent invitations from others seated at the tables brought tears to her eyes. A hand reached out and pinched her as they passed. It was her nightmare come to life.

God, protect me.

“Hands off, boys. She’s off-limits.” Kilgore tugged her up against him, out of the reach of the groping hands. A maniacal grin spread his lips. “At least for now.”

One man wearing a dirty, sweat-stained shirt with missing buttons bellowed, “Ain’t our money good enough for her?”

Kilgore forced her through a doorway at the back of the smoke-filled room. “In due time, gentlemen. For now, she’s mine.”

He pulled the door shut behind them and pushed her down a narrow hallway. Muffled voices and laughter came from behind a row of closed doors.

God, please help me.

When they reached the last door, Kilgore pulled a key from his pocket and inserted it in the lock. Thrusting the door open, he shoved her into what she assumed was his private room.

Heavy draperies hung at the window, blocking out most of the light. Whiskey bottles and glasses sat on a small table. A wooden chair took up one corner. Maroon velvet covered the bed positioned in the opposite corner.