Authors: Jo Goodman
"I wouldn't say that, Mr. Sullivan," Hollis answered. He placed one hand over Rennie's and patted it gently and with a certain air of ownership. "Mary Renee would be my bride today."
Instead, Jarret wanted to say, she slept with me last night. Something of his thoughts must have reached Rennie because he saw her blanch. "Apparently the inevitable's merely been postponed," he said politely.
"So you were listening at the door," Rennie said, accusing.
"Not at all," he said. "Anyone looking at the two of you would draw the same conclusion. A couple as much in love would hardly let a thing like Papa's objections get in the way."
He's lying through his teeth, Rennie wanted to tell Hollis. Don't believe anything. She leveled her most insincere smile at Jarret.
"As for me," Jarret went on, "I was paid to stop one wedding, not a succession of them."
Hollis nodded. "Then, we have no reason to anticipate further interference from you."
"That's a fact," he drawled. At that moment Mrs. Cavanaugh arrived with tea. Jarret used the distraction to grin wickedly at Rennie. In turn, she looked as if she might like to spill hot tea in his lap.
Hollis stubbed out his cigar. "Tell me, Mr. Sullivan, how long can we expect this business with Nathaniel Houston might last?"
"There's no telling. A few days, a week, the better part of a month."
"A month!" Rennie said.
Jarret shrugged. "It's possible. Can't flush out the varmint if you don't know where his hole is."
Hollis raised his cup. "Is it really necessary for you to stay here while we're waiting for this... umm... varmint?" He sipped his tea. "I mean, it's not quite seemly, is it?"
"No one knows he's here, Hollis," Rennie said. She worried her lower lip on the lie as she remembered the confrontation with Logan Marshall. Studiously avoiding Jarret, she added, "Except for Mr. and Mrs. Cavanaugh."
"Yes, but they stay in the carriage house."
"What are you saying?" she asked, bristling. "That there may be some impropriety during Mr. Sullivan's residency?"
"No, of course not," Hollis said quickly. "No, I don't think that. Never." He patted her hand again. "But you must be aware that not everyone will understand the circumstances of his presence here. I'm thinking of your reputation."
And yours, Jarret thought. Hollis did not want it passing through upper-crust circles that his fiancée had taken up with another man.
"I told you, Hollis," Rennie said, "no one knows he's here."
"Rennie," Hollis said patiently, "he interrupted our wedding ceremony. Our guests saw him walk through the church. He struck with his gun and disappeared. Mary Francis was offering her apologies to the crowd when I was revived, but her explanation was not very forthcoming. We are, quite frankly, the talk of the town."
"I think it's more to the point," Jarret said, "that not many people know Rennie's still here. I believe her sister let it be thought that Rennie was leaving town. As long as she stays in the house, then there's no reason for anyone to suspect otherwise. When Nate Houston is captured you two can have a grand reconciliation in front of a throng if you choose. Until then, her safety depends on her seclusion." He paused. "And her reputation relies on our discretion."
Hollis addressed Rennie. "You understand that I would feel better if you were with me. I'm quite capable of protecting you myself."
"I know," she said.
"You're satisfied with this arrangement, then?" he asked.
"Hardly. If it weren't for Michael still being in the city, I'd join the rest of my family. But it's not really a choice for me, Hollis. I need to be here. Even if there's nothing I can do for her, at least I'll know I didn't turn my back. She would do the same for me."
Hollis realized he had to be satisfied with that. It didn't set well with him. "Then I'm to go on at the office as if all is well?"
"All
is
well. I didn't stand you up." Rennie finished her tea. "I really don't care to discuss this in front of Mr. Sullivan any longer." She looked pointedly at Jarret, but he merely sipped his tea and smiled politely. "We'll speak of it again privately."
Mrs. Cavanaugh interrupted a few minutes later, and Rennie, desperate to think of safe topics of conversation, was grateful for the diversion. Lunch went smoothly. Between the soup, salad, and shepherd's pie, Rennie engaged Hollis in business chatter, all but excluding Jarret. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed he seemed more amused by her machinations than offended.
"You could have let me speak to him alone again," she said after Hollis left. "You knew I wanted to."
"Oh, then you
were
aware I was eating lunch with you?"
One corner of Rennie's mouth lifted in disgust. "How could I not be? You were slurping your soup so loudly I'm surprised the neighbors didn't complain."
He grinned. "Noticed that, did you?"
She simply glared at him. As far as she could tell, Jarret Sullivan was without conscience.
He escorted her from the entrance hall back to the parlor. "Actually, Rennie, I could see that nothing good was going to come out of a private conversation with Hollis."
Rennie didn't bother to reprimand him for his familiarity again. "What do you mean?"
"You were going to try to convince him to elope, weren't you?"
She took the offensive. "Where do you get these ideas?"
It didn't matter to Jarret if she admitted it or not, he was satisfied he had reached the proper conclusion. "I don't think Hollis would have agreed. He seems to want the sanction of your entire family. After all, where's the benefit if he gains Jay Mac's daughter but loses Northeast Rail? And you need him in his present position, don't you?"
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Haven't I got the gist of it?" Jarret's fingers threaded through his hair as he considered what he had heard. "From your luncheon conversation it seems that most of what you like about Hollis has to do with his current level of influence in your father's company."
"As usual, you don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" He walked over to the window and drew back the drapes. He scanned the street for unusual traffic, a wagon or pedestrian that did not fit the neighborhood mold. Everything appeared to be as it should. He turned back to Rennie. "It's a relief in a way if I'm wrong. Eloping would have meant being on my guard again, not just for Nate Houston, but for you as well." He gave her a small nod and a pleasant smile. "If you'll excuse me, I have some doors and windows to secure. Mr. Cavanaugh's going to help."
Unsettled, Rennie slowly sat down. The man was very nearly able to read her mind. But he didn't understand everything. He needled her about marrying Hollis Banks because she was ambitious. Rennie could only imagine what he would do if he suspected her other reasons.
Her gaze fell on the half-smoked cigar Hollis had left on the silver tray. Michael used to smoke cigarettes quite a bit, but Rennie had never acquired a taste for them. She picked up the cigar and rolled it between her thumb and forefinger. Smoking had been Michael's way of thumbing her nose at society's conventions. That, and taking a position with the
Chronicle
as its first woman reporter. Rennie had never had any desire to write. She wanted to run a railroad.
Holding the slim cigar up to her lips, Rennie struck a match with her free hand. She puffed gently, rolled the taste of the smoke around her mouth, then exhaled. It wasn't so bad.
She leaned back on the sofa and propped her legs on the coffee table in front of her, crossing her feet at the ankles. This time when she drew in the smoke, she took it all the way into her lungs. The subsequent coughing spasm shattered her mood.
Passing in the hallway, Jarret paused outside the parlor. He shook his head, not quite believing what he was seeing, but not terribly shocked by it. Grinning, he hefted the hammer in his right hand and continued on his way upstairs.
* * *
They ate dinner in the kitchen. Rennie insisted because she didn't want Mrs. Cavanaugh catering to them. She also promised that she and Jarret would manage the cleanup and let the cook and her husband retire to the carriage house early.
"More bread?" Rennie asked, passing Jarret the tray. "Mrs. Cavanaugh makes her own jam. She never buys it from the fruit sellers. I could get you some."
Jarret shook his head. "No, butter's fine." He tried to imagine what she wanted.
"Did you get everything done that you wanted to today?"
"The house is more secure, if that's what you mean. There was a bent gutter and a few loose shingles that I fixed as well." It seemed a fair thing to do since his jaunt across the porch roof had brought about their damage. "I helped Mr. Cavanaugh with some general maintenance."
"That was kind of you."
"Not particularly. I was bored."
She nodded. "I know what you mean. I'm anxious to get back to my work. Michael's probably feeling the same way."
"I doubt it. She's on her honeymoon, remember?"
Rennie's eyes dropped to her plate. She pushed peas around with her fork until she felt the heat retreat from her face. "I'd like to have some papers from the office."
Jarret refused to be drawn along the lines of her wishful thinking. "What exactly is it that you do for Northeast Rail?"
"I work for the director of new projects."
Jarret interpreted. "You're his secretary."
She heard disparagement in his tone and said with a mixture of defensiveness and pride, "I have a lot more responsibility than that. I've been working for Northeast in one capacity or another since I was fourteen."
"That's commendable."
"What were you doing at fourteen?"
Jarret finished buttering his bread. He was careful not to respond to the challenge in her question and answered matter-of-factly. "I was with the Express."
"The Pony Express?" She was impressed in spite of her desire not to be.
"Hmm. That's where I met Ethan. My parents owned one of the way stations outside Salina, Kansas. For the short time the Express was operating, they kept fresh stock for the riders. I joined up with the outfit a few months before it all ended."
"You must hate the railroads."
"Hate them? No."
"But rails ended the Express."
"It was a business. Oh, I know what people in the East thought about it; for a while I entertained some of the same notions. But that was romantic twaddle, perpetuated by reporters who hadn't been west of Pittsburgh. The work was dangerous and dirty, not nearly as exciting as it was exhausting. My parents knew that; that's why they let me try out. They weren't nearly as surprised when I made the cut as I was."
"They sound very wise, letting you discover some things for yourself."
"I think they were attempting to find the lesser of two evils. They could let me go, or I was going to run away." His grin was filled with self-mockery, and he adopted a confidential tone. "I hadn't come into my common sense yet."
Rennie laughed lightly. "Oh? And do you in fact know when that event happened?"
A shadow crossed his face. "I do."
Rennie realized he was looking through her now, not at her, and what she had intended to be a teasing question had taken on other significance for him as he recalled his past. "You don't have to tell me," she said.
"What?" He shook himself out of his reverie. "No, it's all right. I buried both my parents in sixty-seven."
"I'm sorry."
She didn't say it as a matter of rote politeness, Jarret thought. Rennie said it as if she meant it. Her widely spaced eyes were troubled, her feathered brows delicately knit. Her mouth was flattened, lips pressed together in a manner meant to keep something in. Jarret had the oddest feeling that she was swallowing his pain. "It was a long time ago."
Nine years didn't seem so long in some ways, yet when Rennie considered the extent to which Jarret still hurt, it was an eternity. His smiles, his mostly unflappable nature, his mocking and teasing, all of it was meant to maintain a distance. She studied him with new interest. "Was it illness?" she asked.
Jarret shook his head. "They were in Hays on cattle business. The town was barely a town in those days, more of a meeting place for traders and the like. There were lots of soldiers there because of the fort, and cattlemen came through with their herds. Money flowed pretty freely, and it attracted people who didn't necessarily want to work for it. My parents were killed making a deposit at the bank."
It was as awful as Rennie had expected, yet she was certain the deaths of Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan weren't the end of the story, or even that the story had an end. She wanted to know and couldn't bring herself to ask the right questions. "Tell me about your parents," she said instead. "What sort of people were they?"
Jarret helped himself to another serving of chicken and coleslaw. He was grateful for the opportunity to speak of his parents' lives, not their deaths. "My father was an immigrant. He came to Boston in forty and labored his way west. His intended destination was California. He used to remark that if it hadn't been for running afoul of my mother in Kansas City, he'd have been at Sutter's Fort when gold was struck."