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  Silver Mist

  Raine Cantrell

  Copyright

  Diversion Books

  A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.

  443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1004

  New York, NY 10016

  www.DiversionBooks.com

  Copyright © 1990 by Theresa DiBenedetto

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For more information, email [email protected].

  First Diversion Books edition October 2013

  ISBN: 978-1-62681-152-2

  Also by Raine Cantrell

  The Homecoming

  Wildflower

  Western Winds

  Calico

  Desert Sunrise

  Tarnished Hearts

  Darling Annie

  Whisper My Name

  For Joan Hammond, a friend to walk with on life’s paths, and for my father, in loving memory.

  Chapter One

  “Stay there! Not another move or I’ll use this on you!”

  The breathy feminine order made Eden McQuade pause on the threshold of Rainly’s only general store. In reflex, the rifle he held at his side had been cocked and aimed even before the last words were spoken. Tension rode the tall man, backlit by Florida’s hot July sun as he stood framed in the doorway.

  Predatory instincts alerted, Eden swept his gaze over the shadowed interior of the store. There was no one in sight. Hearing no further sound, he eased his finger from the trigger but held the rifle barrel at thigh level. Eden hadn’t expected a welcome in Rainly, but he hadn’t thought to be threatened, either.

  Furious mutterings reached him from the back of the store. Curious now, he stepped forward, skirting the dry-goods table.

  “It’s just like Matt not to be around when I need him. Thinks he fooled me, going off to Kelsey’s ferry to unload sweet potatoes when I know he went to gossip. The boy’s eighteen years old, and I can’t get a lick of work out of him.”

  This last was followed by a screech, sounds of stamping, and then several solid thwacks. Eden grinned. He’d come into town to buy supplies and end six weeks of enforced celibacy; it seemed both his needs might be met at one stop. Southern ladies in distress were well known for their most charming and very warm displays of gratitude. He made his way down the wide off-centered aisle, ducked to avoid the low hung coal-oil fixtures, and smiled upon hearing the rising inflection of the intriguing feminine voice.

  “Wait! I see you, you little critter. Oh, no! Not in there. Come out, you fool thing. You’ll get hurt if those boxes fall. I should call Reverend Speck to give you his sermon about God’s creatures not harming each other. Hah! Provoking … varmint! Do you know”—thwack, thwack—“what my papa will do when he sees this ruined flour? Blame me, that’s what!”

  Eden stopped at the open doorway of the storeroom. A quick scan showed the room held a sole occupant, and he set his rifle aside, a rueful smile tugging his lips. At least he hadn’t made a fool of himself rushing to aid the slowly straightening figure of a young woman, surrounded by slanting shafts of morning sunlight that poured in through the uncovered back windows. Dust motes danced in the light, and he leaned against the wooden doorjamb with no thought of being discovered, since she appeared deeply vexed by whatever distressed her. He had a partial view of her face, smooth skin, the creamy satin of citrus blooms, a tip-tilted nose on whose bridge perched gilt-rimmed spectacles.

  His smile deepened; her clothes were too proper to be true. Schoolmarm variety: pristine white high-necked shirtwaist and a deep blue skirt whose hem was flour-dusted where it brushed the floor. Prim, starched, and proper. It was rather enticing the way the tiny buttons marched up her stiff spine to a slim column of neck above which mink dark hair was neatly braided and thickly coiled. Charming was the word that came to his mind as he thought of opening each of those buttons.

  She appeared slender. One delicately boned hand, two fingers ink-stained, clutched the broom handle. The other rested on her barely curved hip. She wasn’t wearing a bustle. Unconventional, he decided. Hearing her mutter once again about varmints, he scanned the room seeking the cause.

  He took a thin black cigar from his pocket, clamped it between his teeth, and struck a match against the doorframe.

  Dara Owens gave a startled cry as she spun around with her hand pressed to her throat.

  “Oh, gracious! You frightened me. But thank goodness you’re here, sir. I need you,” she announced to the stranger. Her voice was breathy soft, her eyes dark, wide, and thick-fringed behind her glasses.

  And I need you, darlin’. His eyes ranged lazily down to her chest, and the rapid rise and fall of soft lushness revised his first thought. She wasn’t too slender at all. His gaze lifted to engage hers as he lit the cigar.

  “Will you help me?” Her rounded chin lifted, and she swallowed before meeting the warm pewter eyes framed by thick black lashes.

  He glanced around at the cluttered stacks of boxes and piled burlap bags. “I heard you yelling and stomping. What’s the problem?”

  “I do not yell. Well, maybe a bit. But I was provoked, you see. No one’s here to help.” The smoke from his cigar spiraled upward as he used his thumb to tilt back the brim of his black, flat-crowned hat. Dara gave herself a mental shake. Why was she staring at him? But then, he was just as guilty of staring at her. “If you’ll help me, why, then I’ll be ready for you.”

  “Will you?” Speculation brightened his eyes. Ah, that charming Southern gratitude. She tilted her head to one side, peering owlishly up at him, the delicate curve of her brows slightly arched. Yes, indeed. It seemed he was about to have all his needs met with one stop in Rainly. But a scratching noise in the far comer distracted him. “What’s that?”

  Dara turned around, holding the broom with both hands. “A varmint.” She hadn’t heard him move, but he repeated his question so close behind her, the words shivered over the back of her neck. “A possum.”

  His lips hovered over the faint feathering of soft hairs edging her upswept braids. “Well, you won’t chase it out with a broom.” His liquid, gritty voice was rich with humor. Dara’s head shot up and the top slammed his chin.

  “Sonofabitchin’, jack-witted pea goose!”

  Her words of apology died aborning. Dara paled, then spun around, staring at him, abashed that he would dare forget himself so far in the presence of a lady.

  “I should take that hard head of yours and tailtuck it permanently,” he muttered.

  Even her two younger brothers under the influence of Abner Colly’s home brew had never made such a colorful and seemingly impossible suggestion of what could be done with her body. Seeing the fury lighting his eyes, she stifled the temptation to use the broom on him.

  He rubbed his chin and glared at her. “You made me bite my tongue.”

  “I was going to apologize. After what you just said, sir, your mouth will benefit from a thorough washing with Cobb’s laundry soap. We have a special on the purchase of sixty bars and it’s said to be a dirt killer. As for your injured tongue, sir, you know what you can do with it!”

  His grin slowly became tantalizing. “Oh, darlin’, I know, but I wonder if you do.”

  Dara swallowed. She wouldn’t look anywhere but at his mouth. She tried to ignore his words, but his lips beckoned with their sensuous fullness. How could a man’s mouth be so finely molded and promise so much? When had she ever noticed such
a shameful thing before? Heat climbed from her toes, curled up in high-buttoned shoes, to the top of her flushed face. Gathering her courage, she launched her own attack.

  “Sir, whatever are you doing sneaking around back here? Whatever it is that you wanted, please come back later. I find your patronage most unwelcome now. If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

  “I thought you needed my help with the little varmint. As for what I wanted, that would depend on what you’re offering.” He leaned his hip against the stacked boxes, blocking her into the comer.

  She didn’t want to notice his smile or the neatly clipped sideburns bracketing freshly shaved cheeks that gave way to black hair curling softly against the collar of his gray faded work shirt. Her gaze strayed unwillingly down the lean length of his body. The slightly bent leg holding her prisoner was covered in worn denim. She inhaled to ease the sudden restriction of her lace-edged collar. Slowly shaking her head, bemused and annoyed by her reaction to him, Dara clutched the broom handle tighter.

  “Are you always this fearful?” he asked.

  “We don’t have many strangers coming into Rainly.”

  “You soon will.” His words were a promise, but elicited no response from her.

  A slight scuffing noise brought Dara’s attention back to the opossum. She was determined to rid herself of this little varmint first and then the larger one softly chuckling behind her amused by her obviously flustered state. Dara elbowed the man aside. She peered down between the stacked boxes but couldn’t see where the creature was hidden.

  “If you get me an empty burlap sack,” he said, “I think we can manage to get it out unharmed.”

  She wanted to refuse his offer, but she’d lost so much time already. A token protest seemed called for.

  “You really shouldn’t be back here.”

  “That’s a failing of mine, doing what I shouldn’t be.” His light gray eyes were amused, his deep voice soft, hinting of unhurried days, as she glanced over her shoulder at him.

  “The sack?”

  In a huff Dara crossed the room, still holding on to the broom. “Are you sure,” she asked, returning with the burlap bag, “that you can get it out unharmed?”

  “I’ve been known to be gentle when the occasion calls for it, darlin’.”

  “Don’t call me that. And do be careful,” she warned as he nudged her aside with a gentle push. With both hands folded across the top of the broom handle, she watched the taut play of his shirt as he began stacking the boxes anew. She wasn’t standing that far behind him and surprised herself by staring at the leanly curved buttocks brushing her skirt as he bent down to lift aside the last box.

  “Get ready,” he whispered with the sack in one hand as he slowly reached down to grab the small gray-furred animal with the other.

  “Easy, now … Got ’im!”

  But the sharp-clawed little animal who played dead while trapped now darted forward, and Eden yelled for Dara to catch it. When she swung the broom in reflex, it landed with a solid thwack across Eden’s buttocks, thrusting him forward into the hastily stacked boxes.

  “Damn fool woman! What the hell are you doing?”

  Dara turned scarlet. Her ears felt blistered as his swearing continued.

  Eden moved so fast, she lost her breath. Coming up and around, he grabbed the broom and Dara along with it to jerk her hard against him. Her reading glasses slipped down the bridge of her nose, blurring the sight of his face for a moment before she pushed them back into place. The glasses were not necessary for her to see him, she only wore them in the dimly lit store, but now she felt they offered some protection from his glowering look.

  Eden was vaguely aware of the scampering sounds of the opossum scooting out the door. His head throbbed from hitting the box, but his arms were filled with lush femininity, warm, sweetly scented, and as rigid as the corset confining her. He lowered his head, one hand blindly reaching out to ease her deathgrip on the broom handle. Dara released her hold the same moment he did. It fell to the floorboards with a clatter, raising flour dust to choke them. She pushed against his chest, coughing, and from the front of the store heard her name being called.

  With a shove, Dara was free, gone in a swirling flutter of skirt and lace-edged petticoats, leaving Eden to combat additional clouds of dust. Eden’s coughing turned to chuckles. He had certainly underestimated the lady. Either she was a natural disaster waiting to happen upon some unwary soul, or he’d lost the charm that never left his bed empty. With a most rueful shake of his head, he began brushing off the light coating of flour clinging to his clothes.

  Dara was doing the same to her skirt as she hurried down the aisle, her warm smile faltering when she realized who had called her. “Jake, I thought you would be at the train station.”

  “Luther said Anne’s train won’t be in for at least an hour.” He turned around to face her and frowned. “What happened to you?”

  “Oh, nothing. I ran into a varmint in the storeroom. Matt forgot to latch the back door last night, and we lost a one-hundred-pound sack of flour. Thank goodness Papa didn’t see it when he left this morning.” Standing beside him, Dara smiled brightly, wondering why she didn’t tell him about the man back there. But then, Jake could be overprotective at times, since she was his wife Anne’s best friend. And she certainly didn’t want him to confront the stranger in her store and give anyone food for gossip. Reassuring him with a pat of her hand, she said, “Don’t worry so. I managed quite nicely to prove there’s no easy pickings here.”

  “You’re sure you’re all right?”

  “Quite. Don’t fuss. Now, what can I get for you?”

  “I thought I’d surprise Anne with one of those fancy tins of tea you were unpacking yesterday.”

  There wasn’t anything unusual in his request, but then Dara stepped back and noticed what he was wearing. “A gun, Jake? Why? Were you thinking a gift would bribe Anne into dismissing the fact of you wearing it?”

  Knowing Dara’s aversion to guns, he tried to brush off her questions with one of his own. “Whose wagon’s outside? I don’t recall ever seeing it before.”

  “Most likely someone came in while I was in back and didn’t find what they were looking for and left. Maybe they went to the bank.”

  “Where’s Matt?”

  “Down at Kelsey’s. You know everyone is talking about the news.”

  Jake’s expression became grim. Running his large­boned hand through a thick stock of lightly silvered brown hair, Jake leaned over the counter. “Now you understand why I’m wearing a gun, Dara. And you shouldn’t be alone in the store. No telling who might start drifting into town. I saw your pa this morning heading out to your brother Pierce’s farm with a load of supplies and warned him, but he was sure Matt would stay with you.”

  “Jake, what are you worried about? This is the same town it’s always been. Nothing happens here. Nothing that would cause you to wear a gun. Goodness, Jake, when was the last time you arrested anyone? And if you had to, there’s no jail to put them in. I thought as justice of the peace, your job was to avoid trouble, not to encourage it. And Anne will be upset seeing you wear a gun again. In her … well, her delicate condition…” Blushing, Dara paused and lowered her head. It was unseemly for an unmarried woman to mention such matters to a man.

  “Dara. I know all that, but I can’t forget what I was,” he stated with the cool authority that marked every move of his sinewy body. “I’m aware of how my wife and most of the townsfolk try to forget my reputation, but I can’t be caught unprepared. I won’t run.”

  “Are you so sure there will be violence if these men come here?” Dara shivered, glancing back down the aisle, knowing she hadn’t heard the stranger leave the store. Was he standing back there, listening to them? And if he was, could he be the type of man Jake feared would be causing trouble?

  “You’ve never seen what a mining boomtown’s like. I wish to God I didn’t know, but I do. I don�
��t want to see Rainly destroyed, but since the Gazetteer blasted the news of Albertus Vogt’s discovery of phosphate in Florida, I’d bet before the week is out there’ll be men swamping this town till they outnumber us. You just don’t understand,” he finished in a bleak voice. Stepping aside, he reached for a tin of tea from beside the coffee grinder. “Put this on my account, Dara, and understand that I’m not going looking for trouble, but folks ’round here made me welcome, they respected me, and I married one of their own. Rainly isn’t going to be one of those wide-open Western towns. We have law here, and I’ll just be doing my job to see it stays that way.”

  “And you need a gun to do it?”

  “Dara, you’re as innocent as Anne about what—”

  “Stop talking to me as if I were a child. I resent it.”

  “I didn’t mean to insult you.” His sigh bespoke his impatience. “What I should do is talk to my thick-headed brother-in-law about marrying you. I know,” he said, holding both hands aloft, “Clay’s got his reasons and you’ve got yours. I ain’t prying, but you two should be married and soon. Failing that, I’ll make sure Matt understands that he is to stay in the store with you.”

  “If you’re trying to frighten me, you’re succeeding.”

  “Good.” His narrow-eyed stare was directed toward the back of the store. “If you’re warned, Dara, you’ll be careful. Varmints come in all shapes and sizes.”

  “Gracious! You’re making all this sound like those dime novels Matt reads. People in Rainly have more than a six-shooter mentality. The most exciting thing that’s happened in the last year was when Elvira Dinn forbade Miss Loretta from attending the ladies’ box lunch social for shooting the drummer when he climbed into the window of her private parlor. Poor Miss Loretta,” she said, trying not to smile. “She was absolutely mortified that the man was intoxicated and tore her new lace curtains. But then, too, Elvira had no right to say Miss Loretta shot that man to keep him inside. Anyway, everyone knows she’s sweet on Luther.”