Distant Thunder Page 8

  When Belle had sent Daniel the picture in care of the Pinkertons a few years earlier, he’d been drawn to the photo in a way that had astounded him. He’d been taken by surprise at how swiftly she’d grown into a woman. But he’d never pursued his attraction. He’d known she wouldn’t want a man like him. A man so hardened. So lost.

  Even so, he hadn’t been able to wipe the photograph from his thoughts. He’d wondered if Susan’s hair was still the color of raw carrots and her skin as pale as buttermilk. But most of all he’d wondered if some man would ever manage to banish the fear and draw her away from her self-imposed exile from the world.

  Exhaling a careful gust of air, Daniel sank deeper into the pillows, his thumb tracing the sober woman on the right. With a bitter laugh of self-recrimination, he found himself thinking: No, her hair’s the shade of autumn, her skin ivory, her eyes a deep moss green.

  And suddenly, more than anything in the world, he wished he could be the man to eradicate the wistful expression and replace it with a woman’s fiery desire.

  Chapter 9

  “Mr. Kutter! Mr. Kutter, sir! We found him!”

  “What the hell are you doing back so soon?” Jedidiah Kutter whirled around from the map he’d been surveying on the back wall. Scowling at the red-haired, freckle-faced Timmy Libbley, he clamped his cigar into his mouth in irritation and snapped, “I thought I put you on a train with Braxton Hill and told you both not to come back until you had some good news?”

  “But we found him! We found Daniel Crocker!”

  Kutter’s jaw dropped, and the cigar almost tumbled from his mouth. “The hell, you say.”

  “Yes, sir. We went to Ashton, just like you said. We found him there.”

  “He’s gone to his farm?”

  “No, sir. He’s at the orphanage. Benton House. Turns out there’s some kind of reunion for the youngsters who used to live there. I guess he decided to go.”

  “By damn. By double ding damn.” Kutter turned back to his map in excitement. “Do you know what this means, boy?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Come take a look at this.”

  Surprised at his superior’s uncharacteristic expansiveness, Timmy edged forward.

  “We need to bring Baby Floyd from Nevada to Salt Lake City, where he’ll be held until our men pick him up for the transfer to Cheyenne. Somehow he has to be taken from here”—his stubby finger pointed to the Salt Lake junction—“to here”—he speared the railway hub at Ogden—“to here.” Holding his cigar between two gnarled knuckles, he slid an imaginary line across the map to the star that signified the city of Cheyenne. He pounded the map with the side of his fist and let out a whoop. “That’s how we’ll catch the sons of bitches, I tell you.”

  Timmy eyed the map, Kutter, and the map again, wondering where he’d missed some important shred of information. He had no idea of what Kutter meant. “Excuse me?”

  “Here, boy. Here! Are you blind?” Kutter jabbed at the map with a nail-bitten digit. “Can’t you see it?”

  Timmy leaned close enough to see that Jedidiah pointed to the city of Ashton, a mere speck on the map and not much to crow about.

  “The rail lines. Look at the rail lines!”

  Timmy squinted at the hen scratches that marked the route of the Wasatch Territorial. The squiggling trail snaked through the narrow pass that separated the Utah and Wyoming territories, moving through the small town of Ashton and following the jagged path of the creek. But then the lines terminated their eastern route, butting against those of the Humboldt and Western.

  “They change at Ashton.”

  “Well, of course they change at Ashton.” Kutter’s gray eyes snapped. “Perfect spot for an ambush.” He chortled. “At least that’s what the Dooleys will think. They won’t know that we plan to ambush their ambush.” He slapped the map. “We’ll squash ’em like bugs in a trap. And those bastards will never know what hit ’em.” Grinning, he clamped the cigar between his teeth. “But first we need some bait—something that will encourage the entire Dooley gang, not just a chosen few, to attend our soir-ee. Then we need a spy. Someone to leak the information to the Dooleys.”

  “But who?” Timmy straightened.

  Kutter offered him a guileless smile and waited for the reactions to flash across Timmy’s freshly scrubbed face. First surprise, then suspicion, then dawning, then dread.

  “Oh, no, sir. I don’t think—”

  “You don’t have to think, boy. You only have to do what I tell you.”

  “But how am I supposed to find them?”

  “Let them find you, boy. Let them find you! That’s the first law of good detective work.”

  Timmy cringed in dread at the almost gleeful expression on Kutter’s face.

  Slapping him on the back with the force of a locomotive, Kutter said, “Welcome aboard the Pinkerton Express, boy. Welcome aboard.”

  Chapter 10

  Daniel had been ensconced in the guest room for little more than twenty minutes when Esther Reed discovered his whereabouts. The woman had a sixth sense or something, Daniel decided, because she marched through the door, scolded him for stealing into the house without a word of warning, then gave him an exuberant welcoming hug and demanded to see where he’d been wounded.

  Susan, who had been hovering in the doorway, merely shrugged. Who could tell how Esther Reed garnered her information? When one of her little chicks had been harmed, she knew it.

  Since then he’d been alone only when he insisted on privacy to relieve himself. Each time he awoke from a fitful rest, he found someone by his bedside—either Esther or one of the older girls. Daniel’s activities were observed so keenly that he wondered if he’d been thrust back into the military. Essie and her ministering orphans kept tabs on how much rest he had, the amount of broth he refused to eat, and the number of times he asked to use the chamber pot. It was downright embarrassing.

  Supper passed, his tray was gathered, and Daniel could tell that the children were beginning to prepare for bed. Earlier he’d heard singing in the parlor, and he’d felt a sliver of envy because Essie would not allow him to attend, but then someone had walked down the hall and propped the door open so that he could at least hear the music.

  He must have fallen asleep after that because now, except for an occasional footfall, a murmured voice, and the creak and sigh of the house, silence reigned supreme.

  After spending a day in bed recuperating, Daniel found himself wide awake and bored. Just when he was ready for some company, the rest of the orphanage had settled down for the night.

  From the far end of the hall, he heard the rustle of petticoats. His pulse beat a little faster. Susan. She hadn’t come all day. It had to be Susan.

  But the head that peeked around the edge of the door belonged to Sister Mary Margaret. “May I come in?”

  “Do whatever you want.” Daniel hadn’t meant to sound so brusque, but he hadn’t expected to experience such keen disappointment, either.

  Sister Mary Margaret stepped inside and closed the door behind her with utmost care. “How were the cookies?” she asked when she approached the bed.

  “What cookies?”

  She made a tsking noise and tucked her hands into the tabard of her habit. “Never lie to a nun, Daniel. We have a great talent for sniffing out the truth.”

  He glared at her and leaned over the side of the bed, pulling the cardboard box into view. Lifting the lid, he chose two cookies, then restored the cache to its hiding place. “Want one?”

  “And become your partner in crime?”

  “Light a candle or something.”

  “Your views on penance are sorely lacking.” But she took the cookie nonetheless. After tasting the first bite, she lifted one shapely black brow. “No wonder you haven’t been drinking your broth.”

  “Baby food,” Daniel muttered.

  “I see. And cookies are more adult?”

  “What do
you want?”

  She chuckled and turned to leave. “I came to tell you that Max and I will be leaving for the convent tomorrow.” She opened the door and added, “You have three weeks.”

  “Susan won’t be going back to Saint Francis.”

  “That remains to be seen.” Though her tone remained doubtful, her eyes sparkled. “Good luck.”

  “Belle!”

  The door had nearly closed, but Sister Mary Margaret poked her head through the gap. “Yes?”

  “Why do I get the feeling that you wouldn’t mind so much if I persuaded Susan to abandon her vows?”

  Quite seriously she explained, “You brought me a little hope during the war … and later you helped me to see that my background had nothing to do with my worth. You never thought I was trash or assumed that I was doomed to follow in my mother’s footsteps.” She smiled. “You made me see that my greatest enemy was myself and that my wicked ways were only making me more miserable.”

  He grimaced. “As I recall, I was an accomplice to those wicked ways.”

  “Mmm. Even now you could tempt a saint into forgetting all vows of chastity.” When his mouth dropped, she chuckled. “But have no fear, Daniel my boy. I am quite happy in my calling and have great faith in your future. After all, the Lord works in mysterious ways. This quandary with Susan may be God’s secret means of getting you to church.”

  His searing curse should have singed her ears, but Sister Mary Margaret merely laughed and shut the door.

  Sister Mary Margaret met Esther Reed on her way to Daniel’s room. Judging by the medicinal contents of her tray and the determined glint in her gray eyes, Essie was intent on seeing to it that Daniel Crocker healed in minimum time.

  Mary Margaret stopped her, wondering if she was overstepping her bounds, but somehow sensing that the slender woman could become her ally. “I don’t think you want to go in there.”

  Esther frowned. “Excuse me?”

  Checking behind her to make sure no one lingered nearby, Sister Mary Margaret continued, “Susan is very knowledgeable in the healing arts.”

  “But—”

  “She would benefit a great deal from the practice. And I think Daniel would appreciate her company.”

  Esther was not a stupid woman. Mary Margaret could see that at once. The slow-dawning pleasure that spread over her features proclaimed the woman’s true feelings easily enough.

  “You aren’t saying that—”

  “I think so.”

  “Daniel and Susan?”

  “Yes.”

  “But they haven’t seen each other in years.”

  “I think that fact is merely serving to enhance the situation.”

  “Nooo,” Essie drawled in disbelief. Her lips lifted in pleasure, and she leaned forward to whisper, “Really?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “And you think the two of them are … could …” She made a vague gesture.

  “Time will tell.”

  “But Susan intends to take her vows.”

  Sister Mary Margaret slipped the last bite of cookie into her mouth and chewed. “Does she?”

  Esther straightened, looked at the closed door to Daniel’s room, then back at Sister Mary Margaret. “I’m feeling awfully tired.”

  “You’ve had a busy day.”

  “And there are so many preparations for the reunion.”

  “You mustn’t wear yourself out.”

  “Susan might be kind enough to finish this task for me.”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  The two women chuckled softly together and crept back into the kitchen.

  Susan tapped lightly on Daniel’s door, then entered. Obviously he had not been expecting her, because he quickly scrambled to pull the covers a little higher on his chest.

  “Miss Essie was busy and asked me to help. Am I disturbing you?”

  “No! No.” He pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing as he tried to turn and rearrange the pillows.

  “Here, let me,” Susan interrupted quickly. She placed the tray on the dresser, then bent to pull the cushions free. Unintentionally, she let her hands skim over the firm contours of Daniel’s back. The warm friction caused a flurry of sparks to rush through her veins. Hungrily she absorbed the lean expanse sectioned in half by the slope of his spine. Why, if she peered down from the proper angle, she could see bare skin all the way to his …

  Yanking her thoughts back into a more appropriate channel, Susan plumped the pillows with a savage thoroughness, then set them back in place.

  Daniel relaxed against the bolster she’d created and sighed in relief. “Thanks.”

  “Feeling better?”

  “Yes. I told you I just needed some sleep.”

  Susan found that highly doubtful, but didn’t comment.

  “So what has Essie sent as my latest torture? Gruel? Oatmeal?”

  “Actually, she wants you to shave and cut your hair.”

  “And why is that?”

  “She says you look like a hoodlum.”

  “I am a hoodlum.”

  “Be that as it may, she doesn’t want you to look like one.”

  Daniel smiled and ran his finger down her forearm. “You’re getting better at this.”

  Susan jumped at the unexpected, tormenting caress. “What?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Banter. Teasing. I remember a time when you wouldn’t answer me unless it was with one syllable. Yes or no. But I suppose you don’t recall doing that?”

  “No.”

  At her monosyllabic reply, he chuckled, a dry, rusty sound that came with some difficulty at first, then began to loosen up.

  Susan was delighted. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard Daniel laugh, and judging by his own astonishment, he couldn’t either. Returning to the orphanage had been good for them both. The casual, easy atmosphere had allowed them to remember a happier time when being an adult hadn’t seemed so difficult.

  Susan poured the hot water she’d brought from the kitchen into the basin, then extended a towel and razor to Daniel. “You may as well shave first.”

  “No.”

  “What do you mean, no?”

  He held out his hands. Despite his day of rest, they still shook. Such large hands. Big and broad and callused. But they could be gentle when they had to be. Or wanted to be.

  “If I try to clear a path on my jaw, most likely I’ll lay my throat clean open. Tell Essie I’ll do it tomorrow. Or the next day.”

  “I suppose I could do it.”

  He waited a beat of silence before saying, “You could.” His voice dropped an octave, stroking some hidden corner deep in her soul.

  Susan avoided his keen slate-blue gaze. Idly she touched the supplies she’d arranged on the tray. “Why do you keep looking at me that way?” The question was little more than a whisper.

  “I keep wondering about your hair.”

  Unconsciously she smoothed the heavy wool wrapped around her skull. “My hair?”

  “I haven’t seen it loose in years.”

  “I’m not allowed to leave it uncovered.”

  “Why?”

  “A woman’s hair is often a reason for vanity.”

  “You had beautiful hair. Thick and rich and flowing—something to be vain about.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t talk like that.” She snatched the shaving cup from the tray and beat at the froth inside with renewed fervor.

  “They’ll cut your hair, Susan.”

  Whip. Beat. Beat.

  “They’ll cut it down to a stubble if you take your vows.”

  She couldn’t let him see how his remark pained her. Her hair might not be a source of vanity, but it was her hair. She wasn’t sure she wouldn’t feel naked and exposed without it. “It’s easier to take care of that way,” she insisted—to him and to herself.

  He grasped her elbow.
“It would be a crime.”

  “The only crime here is your appearance. Now shush while I tend to it!”

  Needing to stop anything more he might say, she slapped the cream over his face and chin, applying much more than was necessary.

  Daniel tried once to speak and earned a mouthful of lather for his trouble. After sputtering and swearing, he snapped his lips shut, leaned back, and contented himself with watching the way the lamplight revealed a flush on her cheeks. He loved to provoke her into blushing. It reminded him that there were still pockets of innocence in the world. Beauty had not been completely eradicated by corruption. Not yet.

  Susan carefully stropped the razor, then held it up to the light. “I believe it’s probably sharp enough, don’t you?” She tested the blade with her thumb, recoiling when it bit into the pad, drawing blood. Susan yelped and stuck the injured digit into her mouth to suck away the crimson beads. Daniel’s body reacted immediately. But not with revulsion. With something much more base and primitive. He’d had one glimpse of a pink tongue. Her mouth had opened. Her lips were moist.

  Sensing his regard, she drew her thumb free. “Well?”

  Daniel felt a thread of suspicion. “Have you ever done this before?”

  “Cut myself?”

  “Shaved someone.”

  “I’ve lived the last fourteen years in a convent. What do you think?”

  “Damn it!” Daniel snatched the razor from her hand. “Don’t you touch me with anything sharp, you got that?” he ordered. “I’ve already been skewered once. I’m not in the mood for a repeat performance.”

  She grinned. The carefree joy of her smile transposed her sober features, making her more beautiful than any woman had a right to be. Especially when she was swathed from head to toe in scratchy black wool.

  “Hold the mirror,” he demanded brusquely.

  “Yes, sir.”

  She took Donovan’s shaving glass from the tray, then sat on the side of the bed. Daniel tried to shift away, but she wriggled across the mattress and nudged her thigh firmly against his own.