Eleanora (The Widows 0f Wildcat Ridge Book 8) Read online

  “He had a wife and daughter to support.”

  “He coulda done it.”

  “Without a salary?”

  The man stiffened. “We had it figured out. Time just wasn’t right for him yet.”

  Questions buzzed in Reed’s head like mosquitoes, but he’d have to earn the man’s trust to get the answers.

  “I’d be pleased to know your name,” he said, extending his hand. “If you’re willing to share it.”

  “Reckon it’s not a secret.” He shrugged, as if to shake off his mistrust. He moved closer and took Reed’s hand in a firm clasp. “Cuddy Wortman.”

  “Cuddy.” Reed stepped back, careful to keep his distance from that shotgun. The roughness of the man’s palm against Reed’s smoother one lingered. “Why’d you quit the mine? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “Couldn’t abide working for Mortimer Crane. Didn’t trust him as far as I could spit. That mine wasn’t safe for no one, but he didn’t do nothing about it.”

  “So I heard.” Grim, Reed shook his head.

  “The mine was played out, anyway. Crane was done with it. He’d opened another near Clear Creek, outside of Cranesville, you know.”

  “Heard that, too.”

  “But he kept working his men, tryin’ to squeeze out every bit of gold he could.” He muttered an unsavory oath under his breath.

  Reed regarded him. “You ever work any of those secret shifts he ordered up?”

  “You know about them, eh?”

  “The mayor told me.”

  “Hester. Henry’s wife. She took over as mayor in town?”

  “She did and is doing a good job of it, too, from what I can tell.”

  Cuddy smoothed his beard. “Nope. I never worked any of those shifts. You gotta work all night, and you don’t come out for days on end.” His scowl returned. “Me and Darvin wouldn’t a-done it, even if Crane wanted us to. We weren’t special enough, anyways.”

  Reed glanced over at his horse, still grazing as if he hadn’t anything else to do with his day. Which freed Reed up for some more conversation with Cuddy. He gestured toward the cabin. “Mind if I ask what you’re doing out here?”

  “Yep, I do mind, ’cuz I’m asking you first.”

  “Curious, that’s all,” Reed said. “Concerned, too, about Eleanora.”

  “Eleanora?” The beady eyes sharpened. “How do you know her?”

  “I’m staying at the Crane Hotel. She manages it.”

  “Which don’t make no sense to me. She’s always loved this place.”

  “I can see why,” Reed said, doing a mental comparison to the homes he’d lived in throughout his own life, each different than the simplicity and peacefulness of this one. “It needs plenty of fixing, though.”

  “She coulda done it. Folks woulda helped.”

  “That thought crossed my mind, too.”

  “Crane’s got something on her.”

  Reed frowned. “Any idea what?”

  “If I did, I’d clobber him for it and make him do right by her.”

  “There is something. I’ve sensed it, too, but she’s not saying.”

  Except, why would she? She barely knew him. For some reason he couldn’t yet fathom, he wanted to do everything he could to win her confidence and trust in the short time he had left.

  “Must be bad.” Again, Cuddy stroked his beard, faster, as if the thought agitated him.

  Reed chose to change the subject. As much as he wanted to stay longer, he still needed to ride out to the Gold King before dark.

  “You haven’t said why you’re here, Cuddy.” Reed studied him. “Saw a plate and cup on the table inside. You staying in the cabin?”

  The stroking halted. Cuddy stood taller. “I got my own place. Don’t you go thinking I’m moochin’ off Eleanora. I just come and check out the place now and again, that’s all. Keep an eye out for a band of Utes or looters or bear, so’s they don’t wreck things up out here, you know.”

  Reed inclined his head in agreement. “I’m sure she’d appreciate you watching over her home. She know you’re doing that for her?”

  Cuddy shifted, one booted foot to the other. “Haven’t seen her since Darvin got killed.”

  “She might like a visit from you.”

  “I’ll go. When I got somethin’ to say.”

  An odd comment to make, since Eleanora clearly meant a good deal to him.

  “Sure,” Reed said. The man would do what he wanted in his own time. Reed didn’t have the right to convince him otherwise.

  Cuddy cleared his throat. “You have a chance to meet that little girl?”

  “Tessa?” A corner of Reed’s mouth lifted. “I have. Got quite the sweet tooth, that one. Real cute, too.”

  “Always has been.” A faraway look stole into the beady eyes. “I’m her godfather. Bet you didn’t know that.”

  “I didn’t.” Cuddy’s pride touched him. “It’s an honor to be asked. Shows how much your friendship meant to Darvin and Eleanora.”

  “An honor, yep.” Again, he cleared his throat, as if he needed to choke away a rush of emotion.

  “Think about riding into town to the Crane Hotel. Pay them both a visit. You’ll feel good for it.”

  “I will, I said. When the time’s right.”

  Wasn’t Reed’s place to push his ideas onto the man when he clearly had his own. Reed gave up trying and took a couple of steps toward his horse.

  “I’d best get moving. Have a lot of ground to cover at the mine before it gets dark,” he said.

  “Look all you want out there, but it’s a waste of your time.”

  “I suspect so. I’ll know for sure when I get out there, though.”

  Reed unwrapped the leathers and mounted up. Lifting his hand in a wave, he spurred the horse into a gallop, leaving Eleanora’s cabin with more questions than when he’d arrived.

  Chapter 10

  Eleanora pulled the door to her room closed after checking on her sleeping daughter for the third time in the past hour. Any other night, Eleanora would be in bed with her, reading a book or doing needlework until she couldn’t stay awake any longer.

  But not tonight.

  Not when Reed wasn’t back yet.

  She sat at the kitchen table. It was silly to worry about him. He was a grown man and didn’t need her to fret over him. But it was cold and black as coal outside, he’d never ridden alone in Utah Territory before, and he should have returned to the hotel by now.

  She’d waited supper as long as she could, until Tessa’s little belly protested the delay. With their meal finished, the kitchen cleaned, her daughter bathed and put to bed, Eleanora was left with little to do while the night dragged on but wait.

  Feeling silly.

  Until the front door opened, and the scrape of boot soles tripped her pulse into an uneven rhythm. She stood abruptly; when her feet refused to stay put, she rushed into the lobby, then halted in mid-step, bare hands clasped in front of her.

  It was him. Tall, handsome and blessedly safe.

  He was dressed differently than when he’d left the hotel after breakfast. New Levi’s that were spattered with dirt, a heavy coat, and a fawn-colored Stetson. It was as if he’d become a different person. No longer from the big city, but a cowboy as rugged-looking as any she’d seen.

  His gaze locked on her, and he halted, too. Just stood there and stared at her for a long moment, and what did he see that held him mesmerized? Did she look as if she’d been worried half to death?

  “You’re late,” she said, her voice more breathless than she wanted it to be.

  “I’m late,” he said, too, at the same moment.

  He grinned, and her heart did a funny flip.

  “Sorry,” he said. He pushed the door closed. “Want me to lock it?”

  “Please do.”

  Door secured, he walked toward her with the slow tread of a man who’d had a long day on a horse he wasn’t accustomed to riding, and why did that make her chest swell with an em
otion she wasn’t used to feeling?

  “Let me fix you something to eat,” she said softly.

  “Can’t think of anything I’d like better,” he murmured, drawing closer.

  She pivoted and strode into the kitchen, more for a sudden need to keep space between them than to feed him. But feed him she would, as much as he could eat, until he felt warmer, less tired and more content.

  “You can wash up over there,” she said, pointing to a basin with a bar of soap and towel nearby. She lit the stove and set a pot on the burner. “It won’t take me long to warm up this stew.” She turned to him. “Do you like stew?”

  After he took off his coat and hat and hung both on the back of a chair, he wet his hands in the basin. “I’m hungry enough to eat shoe leather right now.”

  Her mouth curved. “You haven’t answered my question, and I certainly hope my stew tastes better than shoe leather.”

  He chuckled, sending her a glance over his shoulder. “I love stew.”

  “It’s made with beef from Olive Muckelrath’s butcher shop, I might add. Which is always excellent, since Olive gets the beef from Buster Odell and...”

  Muscles played along the breadth of his shoulders while he washed up; she tore her gaze away and stopped her babbling. Lots of men had muscles, so why would Reed’s give her that little curl in her stomach which seemed to happen more often of late?

  He dried his hands and pulled out the chair, dropping his weight onto the seat with a heavy sigh. “I’m worn out.”

  “I know.” A wave of sympathy rolled through her like creek water over stones. She gave the stew a stir and topped the pot with its lid. “Did you ride out to the Gold King?”

  He nodded. “Nothing left, just like everyone said. A big hole, scattered wooden beams, twisted metal. So much char that whatever evidence might have been useful was burned away and long gone.”

  “Does that mean you can’t file a judgement against Mortimer Crane?”

  “Ah, my dear Eleanora. Do you think I’ll give up so quickly? I’ve got plenty of cards up my sleeve.”

  His smooth confidence eased her concern, but until Mortimer Crane was punished, the concern wouldn’t go away. “You’ll put the mine’s devastation in your report, won’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  “That’s something, at least.”

  She unwrapped a loaf of bread, took a knife and made two thick slices then laid both on a small plate. She could feel him watching her, and why did that please her to know he was?

  “I met a friend of Darvin’s today,” he said.

  He spoke so matter-of-factly, he could’ve been talking about the weather. But the surprise rolled through her, stealing her ability to comprehend the oddity. She whirled toward him. “Who was it?”

  “Cuddy.”

  “Wortman?” She blinked. “Where on earth did you see him?”

  “I rode out to your cabin today.”

  She took the crock of butter in one hand, the plate of bread in the other, and set both on the table. Suspicion warred with her surprise, with the irrationality that he’d intruded into the privacy of her past without her knowing he would.

  “Why did you go out to my cabin, Reed?” she asked, her voice quiet. “You never mentioned you would.”

  He met her gaze straight on, the depths as dark as rich chocolate, but shadowed and troubled, too.

  “Because I wanted to know more about you,” he murmured, his tone low. “Because I can’t quite put my finger on why you’d live here with your daughter. In a hotel. When you have a home you love and which needs caring for, besides.”

  “My home is not livable.”

  “It’s repairable, Eleanora.”

  “And how will I repair it? Who will help me? A group of widows who have lost as much as I have? What would any of us know of repairing a cabin, and never mind how I’d ever manage to pay for it.”

  He studied her after her pathetic, self-pitying outburst, so long that she turned away to give the stew another stir. If she faced him, he would only see the hopelessness of her predicament, her pain, the truth of what Mortimer Crane had done to her.

  “I haven’t known you long, but not once have I figured you’d be one to let grass grow under your feet,” he murmured.

  “It’s not my fault.” She took a dinner plate, lobbed a big spoonful of stew on top and then another.

  “Lots of folks with less have done more. They pulled themselves up by the bootstraps and started over.” He paused. “They didn’t feel sorry for themselves. And they sure as hell didn’t turn their backs on what they’d built and accomplished to pull up stakes and move into a hotel.”

  She spun toward him, flaring the hem of her dress. “Feel sorry for myself? Is that what you think I’m doing?”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “No.” The plate landed on the table with a messy thud. A fork clattered next to it.

  “Then convince me otherwise.”

  Her eyes stung, and she blinked fast. “Don’t judge me, Reed.”

  “Does Crane pay you so much that it’s worth it to you to raise a young child in a place that’s surrounded by saloons and bordellos when she could run and play in fresh air and green grass and—”

  “He pays me nothing.” she blurted. “I’m here because—because...”

  The words clogged her throat. Never since that awful day at the cemetery when Mortimer Crane sentenced her to a life of servitude to pay off Darvin’s crime had she told anyone the truth. Never had she given anything but a false explanation that she was here at the Crane of her own accord, doing a job to support herself and Tessa.

  Lies, every time.

  Weeks and months of lies.

  Would they ever end?

  Her breath quickened at the futility.

  Reed calmly spread the bread with butter. “I don’t know anyone who’d work a job without pay. Makes me think that if someone did, they’d be forced into it.” He took a big bite of bread, chewed, swallowed. “In your case, I can’t help but wonder if Mortimer Crane is the reason.”

  Still, Eleanora couldn’t admit the truth. The words just wouldn’t come. Not yet, but oh, how she wanted to tell him everything and share the burden she’d carried so long.

  He reached out and took her hand, the scarred one which was still a little greasy from petroleum jelly, and lifted her knuckles to his lips.

  A gentler kiss she’d never had. Nor one so powerful.

  “Sit with me while I eat, Eleanora,” he said, his voice low, rough. “Tell me everything. I want to hear it.”

  Her resolve weakened. She should refuse. Really, she should. But if she’d learned anything about Reed Shannon, it was his shrewdness, his perception, that was sharper than any other man she’d met.

  Both qualities would serve him well in the courtroom, and wasn’t that why he was here? To bring judgement against Mortimer Crane? Wouldn’t it be better for him to be armed with as much information against Crane as he could get?

  She sank into the chair next to his. He released her and took another bite of supper, but his gaze remained on her, as if he feared she’d run away if he didn’t keep watch.

  “He said Darvin stole gold from him,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

  His expression didn’t flinch. “You think it’s true?”

  “I don’t believe he did, no.” She clasped her hands in her lap. “He was a good man. In the years we were married, he’d never done anything of the sort. Surely, I would’ve known if he had.”

  Reed nodded. “Hester says Crane had... creative ways of making sure the miners didn’t pilfer gold.”

  Eleanora rolled her eyes. “Like jumping naked over bars to shake any nuggets loose?”

  “That’s what she said, yes.”

  “The supervisors were ordered to check lunchboxes, pockets, boots. Whatever they thought would hide gold.”

  “You don’t think Darvin outwitted the supervisors somehow?”

  “If he had
, then how would Crane find out?” She nibbled her lip. “But Darvin had opportunity, I admit.”

  “Outside of working hours? When a supervisor wasn’t around?”

  “Darvin worked secret shifts. He and Cuddy worked them together,” she said. “They’d be gone two, three nights at a time, working in some secret part of the mine where no one else could work, and...”

  It registered with her, then, that Reed had gone still, his fork in mid-air.

  What had she said to startle him?

  “No, Eleanora,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “Darvin didn’t work secret shifts.”

  She frowned. “Yes, he did. Many times.”

  “Cuddy said they didn’t. He said they weren’t part of Crane’s trusted workers. Not special enough.” His expression didn’t waver. “His words, not mine.”

  She tossed the revelation back and forth in her mind and tried to comprehend. “Are you saying Darvin lied to me?”

  “Not saying that, no.” Reed hesitated. “But he could have.”

  The concept tilted her world and left her spinning from the possibility.

  “II don’t know what to think right now.” She rubbed her forehead. “I’m not sure if I should believe Darvin. Or Cuddy, for that matter.”

  Reed finished off the stew and pushed his empty plate aside. “For what it’s worth, Eleanora, Cuddy didn’t strike me as the lying type. He was concerned for you, protective of your place, and suspicious of me. Smitten with Tessa, too. All traits of an upright man. But that’s just my opinion.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell me more about him, though. He was good friends with Darvin?”

  “Yes. From the moment they met at the mine. Cuddy was like a father to him.”

  “How’d they get that way?”

  “Cuddy was the experienced miner, Darvin had never done it. Cuddy took Darvin under his wing and taught him the trade. They were all but inseparable.”

  “Did Cuddy have a wife? Kids?”

  “No. He lived in the mountains somewhere. Darvin said he was alone out there. I know that worried him. Cuddy was older, and since they shared many interests, it was easy for them to spend time together and for their friendship to flourish.”