Silver Mist Read online

  “Sweet she may be, but Luther’s worried about who she’ll be letting into her boarding house. We all know there hadn’t been enough business here to keep body and soul together for her. But Luther’ll watch out for Miss Loretta. You watch out for yourself.”

  By the time Jake left, Dara had quite forgotten the stranger in her storeroom. She was shocked by what Jake implied. Rainly had no crime. Men didn’t wear guns. They had no violence here.

  “You should heed Jake’s warnings.”

  Startled, Dara looked up. The stranger was standing right inside the counter, bold as the brass spittoon by his scuffed boots.

  “You know Jake Vario?” She paled at the thought.

  “No man ever really knows another.”

  “That’s not an answer.” With a wrinkled nose, she stared pointedly at the lit cigar he raised to his mouth. “You shouldn’t be smoking in here,” she primly informed him, backing away from him until she was able to sit on the high stool. Gracious, but he was certainly tall!

  “I told you, it’s a failing of mine”—he met her inquiring gaze with a grin—“doing what I shouldn’t.”

  “I agree. It is a failing. You should see Reverend Speck about it. I’m sure he could help you. The church is one mile out of town, past the train station. You won’t be able to miss it.”

  “Are you always this rude to customers? Seems a mighty poor way of doing business, and there doesn’t seem to be much to the town.” He leaned against the counter, blocking her exit, taking a drag of his cigar.

  His critical tone brought a cool note to hers. “We have everything we need.”

  “Do you, now?”

  “Yes.” Her chin jutted forward as if daring him to dispute it.

  “Somehow, darlin’, I doubt that you do.”

  Hectic color spread across her cheekbones. Dara firmly settled her glasses in place.

  “Do you need to wear those?”

  “Pardon?”

  “The spectacles. Must you wear them?”

  “In the store I do,” Dara replied. “The light isn’t the best to read the tiny catalog print and sometimes the labels … oh, gracious, why should I bother to explain to you.”

  “You were being polite,” he suggested helpfully.

  “If you continue, you will make that act difficult for me.”

  He didn’t answer, merely nodded, satisfied that she was becoming flustered.

  While it wasn’t unusual for her to be alone in the store her family owned, she wished she had let Jake know this man was here. She wasn’t frightened of him harming her, but he was certainly testing her will to remain unruffled in the face of his provocative sparring. Besides, there was a solidness to his lean build as he stood blocking the only way out from behind the counter that she refused to challenge.

  “I have work to do,” she announced in dismissal, pulling the J. L. Mott plumbing catalog toward her and opening it blindly.

  “A porcelain-lined French bath?” he read over her shoulder. “Why, darlin’, we share an inclination toward anything French.” Over her spate of furious sputtering, he read, “Comes with ‘Supply Fittings and Unique Waste and Overflow, and the Cocks are of the Improved Pattern with Ebony Handles.’ My goodness,” he continued, “ ‘the Supply Valves are the best-known form of compression, durable and easy in movement. To empty: the Stand Pipe is raised and turned slightly to the right or left; a still further tum will permit the Stand Pipe…’” He stopped suddenly, covered the page with one spread hand, and inquired, “Does anyone know what you read when you’re alone?”

  Mortified, Dara could only stare at him. She didn’t want to understand the direction his thoughts had taken, but his tantalizing grin plus the laughter in his eyes refused to let her deny it.

  “Oh, dear Lord,” she whispered as he straightened to return to his imprisoning post. Her unwilling gaze strayed down his body and remained there.

  “Now, as to what I want.” The pause was deliberate. He wanted her to look up at his face. She provoked him with her curious and innocent gaze lingering on the jut of his narrow flanked hip and the uncomfortable tightening fit of his buttoned fly. There was no way he could hide the semihard state of his arousal. But then, he never had to. Eden knew himself to be a man finely attuned to his senses, and right now they were filled with warm, sweetly scented woman. He hadn’t denied himself anything he desired for more years than he sometimes cared to remember. He wasn’t about to start now.

  “I’d be glad to shuck down so you could satisfy both our risin’ curiosities, darlin’, but first,” he drawled, “I’d suggest you lock the doors. I’m not in a mood to be rushed.”

  Gasping, Dara blinked, her spectacles slipping down her nose. She couldn’t have heard him correctly. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You have my pardon.” His glance held her in predatory thrall. “And anything else of mine you’d like.”

  Affronted by his words and manner, Dara clenched her teeth. “If you have come here to buy something, I’d suggest you go … go find it.”

  “And if I already found what I want?” he asked with a voice rich in humor.

  “Everything we have for sale is clearly marked. Leave your money on the counter.”

  He withdrew the cigar from between his lips and gazed thoughtfully at it for a moment before beginning an insolent but thorough inspection from her slightly mussed braids down to the tips of her shoes peeking out from beneath her skirt. “No,” he stated with a rueful shake of his head, “not everything is clearly priced. And telling strangers to leave their money on the counter makes you a trusting little thing.”

  “No. I’m not a trusting little thing.” Her eyes targeted to his. It was the sinful promise that held her. Black feathered brows arched arrogantly above those eyes framed by thickly curled lashes. The stormy gray irises were mates for the clouds preceding a wild windstorm. Dangerous eyes, teasing her to know if the hints of lightning and thunder were the sources of heat she felt touch her.

  “Reconsider, darlin’? I know you could satisfy me without too much trouble.”

  “I doubt that.” Dara straightened her spine. She had never faced such bold candor in all her twenty-two years. “I think you’d better leave. I find your manner contemptible.”

  “Darlin’, I’m all for accommodatin’ a lady, but it isn’t my manner you’re staring at.” Ignoring the choking noise she made, he pulled a piece of paper from his breast pocket. “Here’s a list of supplies I need.”

  Dara grabbed it from his hand. “The shovels, picks, and steel rods are all hanging on the right front wall inside the doorway. If you load them first, you can bring your wagon—I assume that’s your wagon out front—around to the back door to load your foodstuffs. I’ll total your purchases. And that, Mr.—”

  “Silver’ll do, and my pardon for the oversight of not introducing myself.” He fixed his hat on his head with the brim slanted forward and stepped out from behind the counter.

  Dara couldn’t help herself. She called out to his retreating figure, “What kind of a name is that?”

  “Just a handle folks hang on a man.”

  The floorboards creaked as he reached the front of the store. Dara found a rich curiosity urged her to ask, “Didn’t you have parents to give you a good Christian name?”

  “Sure. Didn’t yours?”

  “Of course they did.” But she wasn’t about to volunteer it. The man had taken enough liberties as it was. She glanced back to his list, checking off the items and tallying them as he set the tools in the open doorway. “We don’t stock chocolate candy,” she called out to him. “The heat would spoil it. We do have a fine selection of hard candies.” He had been walking back toward her and stopped. Looking from her mouth to the colorful assortment of glass jars lining a shelf behind where she primly sat and watched him, he frowned.

  “That’s all?” He moved to the counter, leaning over it. “Cravings,” he informed her with a serious note, �
�can be the undoing of a man if he doesn’t make an effort to satisfy them.”

  “Has anyone ever informed you that you can be the devil’s own provoking—”

  “I’ve been told and stopped apologizing for it a long time ago. I guess I’ll settle for some rock candy.”

  Dara stood up, nudging the stool aside with her hip. “How much did you want?”

  “More’n a mouthful,” he answered with perfect seriousness.

  Her hands shook as she filled a large paper square with the crystal hard candy. After twisting it closed with a vicious yank, she weighed it on the scale using the smallest of the brass counterweights.

  “I’ve already stacked two sacks of flour, one of cornmeal, and one of coffee by the back door. I’ll take a barrel of pickled beef for now, but I couldn’t find the sugar loafs.”

  She merely nodded, setting the candy down in front of him. Reaching beneath the counter, she tore off a piece of brown wrapping paper and lifted a ball of twine. From the lowest shelf she opened a tin and removed two sugarloafs. “Will that be enough?” she asked, looking into his face. He was no stranger to the sun, but a farmer he was not. With the amount of supplies he was buying, she couldn’t dismiss him as a drifter. That left him to be one of those men the newspaper reporters had called “adventurers” coming here to look for the newly discovered “white gold.”

  “I’ll need to open an account. I don’t know how often I’ll get into town for supplies. Would—”

  “See my father.” She busied herself with itemizing his purchases.

  “Owens? Like the name on the sign outside?”

  “That’s right.”

  “As in Miss or Mrs.?”

  Dara looked up. “I consider that a personal question.” All the starch she normally used in her linens went into her voice. “I charged one dollar a piece for the shovels,” she began, shoving the totaled list in front of him. “And sixty cents—”

  “Just tell me the total. I trust you not to cheat me, darlin’.”

  “Stop calling me that!”

  “Sure enough, but I’ll caution you to charge more for the tools. Your stock will be gone before you know it. Wouldn’t surprise me none to hear that some enterprising vulture bought it up to resell at a higher profit.”

  “That would be unfair and cheating!”

  “Jake was right. You are an innocent. And you didn’t believe him, did you? Well, that’s only one of the changes about to happen to Rainly. And that, Miss Owens,” he stated with a studied look at her ringless fingers, “you can take to bed with you as gospel.”

  “What I take to bed or not isn’t any of your business!” Horrified to hear herself yelling, Dara backed down. Anyone could come into the store and overhear them. Gossip spread faster than butter on hot corn pone, and she had been the object of it once too often. Chastising herself didn’t help the itch in her palm to feel itself meet his cheek. “Stop staring at me.”

  “Guilty as charged, but hasn’t any man ever had the sense to tell you you’ve only yourself to blame?”

  She refused to answer. “Please pay your bill and leave.” Her hand was small, palm and slender fingers cupped to receive the gold coins he counted out and then dropped one by one into her hand.

  He gathered up the paper twist of candy and put it in his pocket, his steady gaze never leaving her face. “Are you going to run?”

  Clutching the money, Dara glanced back at him. “I never gave it a thought.”

  “Didn’t you?” He had to give the lady her due; she had pride, even if he was tempted to goad her further. “What’s the best time to meet your father?”

  “Meet my father?”

  “To open my account, darlin’. I assure you my intentions are not honorable.”

  “Unfortunately, I cannot doubt that. He’ll be here on Thursday.”

  “I’ll be back. I promise.”

  Dara sank onto the stool as he flipped the brim of his hat with a jaunty wave and headed toward the back door. Shaken, she rested her head against her folded arms on the counter. Whatever had possessed her to engage in verbal sparring with a perfect stranger! Resentment swelled inside her. This was Clay Wescott’s fault for waiting to marry her. He had more excuses than J. L. Mott had plumbing fixtures in his catalog. But that only reminded her of what had just happened.

  “French bathtub, indeed! Why, that man made everything sound positively indecent.” Her head snapped up. “Jake was right,” she whispered. “Varmints certainly do come in all shapes and sizes. Good riddance to both of them.”

  Her thought was almost echoed by Eden McQuade as he loaded his wagon. He had the supplies he’d come for, but the problem of his celibacy remained. Rainly didn’t boast a saloon, which meant there was a decided lack of available females. It wouldn’t last long, but … the sudden remembrance of the overheard conversation the prim Miss Owens had with Jake Vario made his eyes bright. There was a boardinghouse in town, and he was sure to find a hot bath, maybe a little decent brandy, and a willing female to scrub his back. The Miss Loretta they discussed certainly sounded like she wasn’t adverse to men.

  He rolled the barrel of beef onto the flatbed of the wagon, straining to lift its heavy weight, and glanced back toward the store. Lord help him. When had he been so enthralled by a woman’s mouth? He tied the barrel into place, venting some of his frustration on securing the rope to the low-sided wagon. Then he paused and pulled the candy out of his pocket, twisting open the paper. His thumb edged the rough sweets, thinking how soft her lips would be if he rubbed them just so, and her eyes … such sweet provoking innocence.

  Ruefully he shook his head. He’d just been too long without a woman. He settled a small piece of candy between his lips. His mouth was filled with coolness, then a burst of sugared sweetness. He climbed onto the seat, urging his team of horses around. Did that fool woman know she whispered with her eyes to touch? More’n likely she was as straitlaced as her corset. She probably deserved the man Jake claimed was his brother-in-law. Jake married? He didn’t want to think about Jake at all. Finding him here did not fit in with his plans. Five years could be a long time in some men’s memories, but then, he and Jake hadn’t parted on the best of terms. Guiding the horses to enter the main street, Eden looked over the empty platted lots.

  Rainly seemed to hold a few surprises, maybe a challenge or two. The blasting whistle of the incoming train split the air as he headed toward the livery. He thought about the men who would swarm into the town, men hungry and greedy to grab the claims that promised riches. Eden knew better. He’d mined silver from Mexico to Nevada before he had discovered phosphate on land he owned far south of Rainly. He knew mining to be hard, dirty work few men had the courage or drive to stick with until mining paid off. It was the violence that went hand in hand with greed that he hated, even if he wasn’t a stranger to it. Jake had the right of it; trouble was coming. But then neither he nor Jake was a stranger to trouble. They’d handled their share, except when there was a woman involved.

  Eden passed the two-story clapboard house surrounded by a neat white picket fence. A small elegantly lettered sign proclaimed that boarders were welcome. Built on the comer of Illinois Street, the house was shaded by towering oaks festooned with Spanish moss that dappled wicker furniture on the wide wraparound veranda. Not a breeze stirred the air, and not one person was abroad as he urged his team at a walk down the main Charleston Street. He could see the weathered roof of the livery now.

  It was a shame, he mused, what would happen to this farm town. But then, phosphate was as valuable to the expanding nation as gold. Industrialization spurred a migration to the cities that caused farmers to deplete the mineral resources of their land in an effort to meet the increasing demand for food. Chemical fertilizers including phosphate were desperately needed. The reporters had the right of it to call the mineral “white gold.” He wished for more time before the news leaked out, but Albertus Vogt and his partners had kept their discovery
hidden as long as they could while they bought up twelve thousand acres of farmland in and around Rainly for pittance money.

  With the railroads slicing the distance between the oceans, and the telegraph opening communications, many of the cities were growing at too rapid a rate. Some of the cities boasted the newly invented telephone and electric lights, although he knew they kept the old gas jets on standby. Progress wasn’t about to be stopped, and Eden would be a fool to think it could. And who was he to blame any man for thinking he’d join ranks with the likes of Jim Fisk, Jay Gould, or Commodore Vanderbilt? They were only a few of the proclaimed self-made millionaires some called “robber barons.”

  Power and money were the laws in the new age of the land. And for a man better known in Western mining circles as Silver, his smile was deeply satisfied. His place was richly secured in the coming scheme of things.

  He might have amended that thought if he’d been at the train station.

  Chapter Two

  Jake Vario kept pace with the slowing passenger cars of the train. He searched each dust-glazed window for a sign of his wife, then smiled when he saw her waving to him. The train agent was already swinging down a set of steps as Jake came to a sudden stop before them. But then Jake’s smile faded and his eyes narrowed. Tension gripped him when he met the amused gaze of the man who alighted first. He backed away, not in fear, but to give himself room. Jake’s right hand unconsciously released the rawhide thong of his gun holster.

  With a smooth gesture, the man spread open his jacket. “There is no need, amigo,” he stated with quiet emphasis. “As you see, I am not armed.” He paused, then added after an exaggerated smile, “Many of us wondered where you had disappeared to.”

  “Did you, amigo? There was a sarcastic harshness to Jake’s words, a deadly coldness in his eyes. His hand remained hovering over his gun. “Did you come to pick a few bones clean, Lucio?”

  “The years have not changed you, I see. But you are unfair to accuse me of this.” Slowly, so that there was no mistaking his intent, he removed his square-crowned hat to fan himself. “This place has the heat of my country. It is good to be where it is warm again.”