Authors: Jennifer Jakes
“
Yes…”
What kind of man was this?
He wasn't angry at the way Alice talked to him?
He
confused her, and she didn’t like that. Not one bit. She stood intending to step aside, to the other side of the kitchen. Or outside. Being close to him was dangerous.
He pressed Eden
back into the chair. “Sit. You look pale.”
“
I'm fine.” Just baffled. Men just weren't nice for no reason. Some perhaps. Cormac had been a good friend to her, asking nothing in return. But Cormac was a poor Irishman. The major, while not rich, had rank, manners. Surely he wanted
something
.
“Well, I'll help you finish up here, then I need to talk to Mary Rose. The more time that passes the harder it will be for me to find the guilty man.” He took a steak from a large cold-crock and dropped it into a pan of grease.
“
Once supper is over, we'll go in and see her.”
He
nodded, grabbed a plate, two biscuits and started ladling gravy. “And, Eden, just so you know,” he glanced over his shoulder, “I
do
understand why you didn’t think you could tell me you’re a madam, but I would have agreed to help you even if you came to me this morning in your corset and drawers, carrying a bottle of whiskey. Right is right and wrong is wrong. No matter rich or poor, everyone has basic rights.” He turned, his gaze catching hers, holding on, searching. “Everyone.”
A flush heated her face. Shock, embarrassment, hope, all surged through her at once.
Where was he when she lived in St. Louis? When her life was ruined, when she was almost killed? Maybe, if she'd known Major Sinclair Bradford then neither Alexander nor his father would have gone unpunished. Maybe if she told him she was being blackmailed…
No. If she told him her involvement in the robberies, she would go to prison.
Sophia would be expelled from the school, put on the streets. Become a whore.
He continued in a low, calm voice.
“I just want you to know where we stand. I will always respect someone who’s honest—no matter how ugly it might be, I always want the truth.” Pain clouded his gaze, then he blinked it away, lifted his mouth in a smile too forced to be real as he went back to cooking.
She managed to swallow though her mouth had gone dirt-dry
. Guilt did that to her. “I too prefer to know where I stand in any given situation.”
He nodded, the sadness never leaving
his face though it reached out and twisted her heart.
Eden stood
, putting space between her and the major. Between her and the damned compassion his sadness had stirred inside her. She didn't want to feel anything for this man. Not compassion for whatever hurt he'd suffered, not admiration for his willingness to admit when he was at fault, and certainly not happiness that he could respect her despite her lurid past – and respect was there in his gaze, not judgment, not like how some people looked at her.
Not that she
cared what anyone thought of her. It just didn’t matter anymore, didn’t hurt anymore…not much anyway.
All that mattered
was getting free from the senator, then making enough money to buy Sophia an education and a respectable life, any kind of life, just so long as she didn't take up whoring. Too many Gabrielli women seemed to accept that vocation. Her sister would
not
be the third to take this horrible route.
“
Would you like some coffee, Major?” She needed to stay busy. All this thinking and considering, all this
feeling
, would lead to nothing but trouble.
He sucked in a long, deep breath and smiled. This time the smile reached his eyes.
“All right. But I thought you were going to call me Sinclair.”
“
I don't think that was decided, merely requested.” Did she sound in control? Or could he hear the stupid breathless way her voice lilted?
Damn it
. She didn't want to get comfortable with him, no matter how sincere he seemed. No matter how his gaze flickered with interest each time he looked at her.
“
If I say
please
, call me Sinclair, will that help?”
“
How about if you just tell me how you like your coffee?”
He chuckled.
“With lots of sugar.” He pulled the meat from the pan and plated it with vegetables and bread.
“
Sweet tooth?” She barely resisted the urge to tease him even more. This felt too nice, too comfortable. Too dangerous. She hadn’t danced with danger in a long, long time. Too long apparently and her body knew it.
“
Little bit.” He grinned, a dimple creasing his left cheek. “Thank you,” he added as she passed him the cup.
“
You’re welcome.” She backed away, away from his manners and heat and that damned dimple she wanted to trace with her tongue.
No, no, no
. She couldn’t let this man make her forget how cruel men were.
Alice stuck her head around
the door. “I need two more steaks. Both still mooing.”
Eden nodded.
“All right. Here. Take the pie and plate. I'll bring out the soup.”
She moved to t
he stove, her skirt brushing the major’s tall boots as she reached for a bowl and the ladle. “Ow!” The tin of the handle pressed into her new burn.
He frowned.
“Are you just determined to hurt yourself again… or just determined to do the opposite of what I asked you to do?”
“
The latter.” She stepped around him to serve the soup. She could make it through this evening with him in her kitchen. She could.
She would
.
“
With that attitude, you'd be drummed out of the army if you were one of my men.”
“
Well, I'm not a man so you'll just have to disregard me.”
“
Believe me, I would if I could.” His words were nothing but a gritted whisper, but she heard them all the same.
Heard them, ignored them.
But ignoring the little shot of pleasure his words caused was impossible.
***
After she returned from the dining room, Sinclair turned to her. From the serious, unsure look on his face, she wasn't going to like what he had to say. Maybe that was for the best. She could handle being angry with him much better than liking him.
“
Eden, I need to ask you something.”
“
All right.”
“
You and the working girls probably hear a lot of talk. More than most men realize. Maybe some plans being made?”
“
I suppose.” Lord, had he heard the tremor in her voice? Did she look guilty? She felt guilty. Every muscle in her body was drawn as tight as a corset string.
“
Have you heard anyone mention the robberies or the accidents? Anything suspicious?”
“
Every
time there's a robbery the men talk and talk and worry and drink.” But she always fled to the kitchen when that happened. The pain of knowing she was hurting those men by spying too much to bear.
“
No, I mean – “
“
You mean have any of us overheard nefarious plans?”
“
Yes.” He nodded.
“
Major, if you want to know about the railroad’s plans, you should ask Parsons or Stevens—or even Kate Parsons. I assure you men hardly sit at my bar and proclaim their next robbery schedule.” She forced a laugh.
“
Fair enough.” He gave a half-grin. “I suppose what I'm trying to ask is, if any men have talked while…conducting business upstairs.”
“
Ahhh. Well, I haven’t heard anything.” She wasn’t going to tell him she didn't
conduct
business upstairs anymore. If she did he'd have more questions, questions she couldn’t— wouldn’t—answer. No one but Alice knew what Alexander had done.
“
If you do, I’d appreciate knowing. The Katy can't survive the set-backs that have been going on.”
Her muscles tightened, twisted.
“You expect me to ask my girls to help you help Parsons? After the way he and Stevens treat us—like shit on their expensive shoes?” It was like asking her to help the Devil.
He shook his head.
“I’m sorry. I do understand your hesitation to help Parsons' railroad, but surely you care about the men whose jobs—even their lives—are at stake. Robberies aside, the accidents have been very dangerous. Someone could be killed.”
Like me.
She’d been on the platform that day in New Chicago when Helga tried to blow up the tracks.
Eden
moved to the sink and started pumping water to heat for dishes, more to hide her face from his intense study than to keep busy. It wasn't fair he would try to use her sympathies against her.
“
I don't know what makes you think I care about anyone in this town.” The words felt brittle, choked. Could he tell?
His
soft chuckle filled the kitchen. “This from the woman who begged me to help a young girl, a woman who paid for that girl to have schooling, a better life…”
Eden gasped. Damn
Cormac and his big Irish mouth.
“
That's different.”
“
I thought we were going to be truthful. So tell me, if your friend McGrady is killed next week in one of those accidents, you won't feel any remorse? You won't feel bad for his widow?”
She slammed down the bucket
. “Now see here, I don't appreciate you trying to guilt me. Do you really think me so gullible?”
“
No.” He took the still bloody steaks from the grease and placed them on plates with potatoes and greens. “I just need help with information. And honestly, you or your girls could hear something that could be useful.”
“
Fine. I'll tell them to let me know if they hear something. But I'm not doing it for Parsons.” Not for this tall man standing too close, taking up too much space in her kitchen either. Only for Cormac and the McGrady Gang. Those men deserved to work in what little safety there was in handling dynamite and digging trenches. And somehow she’d have to share that information without laying any trails to her own involvement.
“
Fair enough.” He carried the plates to the swinging door. “I’ll take what I can get.”
That’s what she was afraid of.
***
They worked the next hour feeding the men, Sinclair cooking
, and, after heated discussion, Eden cut the pies and ladled the soups. The time passed easily. Talking with the major felt like the most natural thing in the world, as if he was an old friend, like Cormac.
Except she was achingly attracted to this friend.
He made her smile – even though she'd bit her lip several times attempting to dissuade his teasing. The very fact that she wavered back and forth between throwing him out the door or inviting him into her bed made her dizzy with worry.
Finally Alice announced
the crowd had thinned out to mostly drinkers.
“
We can see if Mary Rose feels up to talking now.” Eden stacked the dirty plates into the sink. “The dishes can wait.” Better to let the major ask his questions and be gone. This evening was too …cozy.
“
All right.” He pulled the frying pan free from the heat. “After you.” He smiled again, and it was discerning as hell. His dimple, the fact his eyes crinkled at the sides…and the way his hair was still mussed did crazy things to her insides. He was nothing like the men she’d been with. High bred dandies, they were. Alexander being the cream of the crop, or the bottom of the barrel depending on how you looked at it. Nevertheless, all of them were worthless, selfish men who betrayed their wives, their business partners, and anyone dumb enough to associate with them.
She much preferred Sinclair’s
class of people. Much preferred a lazy smile from a man willing to help in the kitchen over a rehearsed laugh from a man sprawled over a fainting couch. Much preferred the heady scent of saddle leather over bottled toilet water. Much preferred the man following her over any man she’d met in a long, long, long time.
She
felt his gaze scorching her back as she led him through the kitchen to the spare room where Mary Rose rested. What was he thinking as he trailed behind? Was he wondering about her limp? Why she'd become a whore?
Something foreign i
nside made her want to tell him, wanted him to understand this life had chosen her, not the other way around. That given a choice, she would have been anything but a whore. Could have been a wife, a mother.
Could have been someone respectable, wonderful, loved.
Before they reached
the door she stopped short and turned – colliding against the major. His arms shot out catching her, wrapping her in his heat for just a moment, but searing her with the memory she wouldn’t soon forget. She glanced up to apologize, but the words froze in her throat. His brown eyes darkened to black, and a thick, languid heat flooded her limbs, making her boneless.