"Billy came over drunk as they come and crying like a baby, telling me how he hated to go back on union principles and warn a traitor, but he couldn't believe I was one. Billy confirmed what you're saying. I asked Billy why they suspected me again, especially considering I just proved my innocence yesterday. He claims he was sworn to secrecy, but that someone recognized me as a private detective. It had to be Black Jack."

  "You're not going to be foolish enough to come to the meeting, are you?"

  "No, I won't be going. You'll have to be our eyes and ears, Dietz."

  Dietz, still standing, shifted from foot to foot. "You have an escape plan?"

  Patterson shook his head in the negative. "I'll have to get to the mine."

  "Shit, Patterson. Cross Canyon Creek, climb to the wide-open rail bed, and then hoof it up the hill to the mine? The trip's filled with dangers. And how do you plan to get as far as the creek? I had a deuce of a time sneaking over here myself. The back of your fence is clear, but they've got scouts. You know they'll be surrounding your place soon. You need to get out now."

  "No, boy. I need to play a calm hand."

  "And I need to get home before Keely misses me." Dietz turned toward the door. "You go anywhere, let Mrs. Shipley know. I'll follow when I can. Do what I can." Patterson nodded. Dietz turned and left.

  Minutes after Keely left McCullough's room, she returned with a cold compress for his lip. The bed was empty. She hadn't heard the back door open and close. Perplexed, she glanced up in time to see McCullough sneaking off back into the woods. Where was he going? Why had he lied to her, wanted to get rid of her? Didn't he trust her? Fears, worries, anger all welled up at once. Could he have union business so important?

  She went back into the kitchen to check on the pies she was baking in the oppressive heat and spent fifteen minutes stewing. She would show him. She meant to return to the room and wait for him. She would catch him sure and certain. But when she returned and opened the bedroom door, she found him back in bed, sleeping, his breathing soft and steady, his expression relaxed. She sat on the bed next to him and brushed the hair from his face.

  What's going on, McCullough?

  Chapter 15

  Dietz's watch read eight forty-five. The union meeting had started at eight. At eight thirty, half an hour after Patterson should have shown up, Waters dispatched a committee of three men to Patterson's store to see what kept him. Of course, Dietz knew what kept him, a sense of self-preservation. Dietz guessed every man in the hall knew as much.

  Anticipation laced the crowd, which buzzed and murmured as they awaited the committee's return. Frankly, Dietz had been glad he had not been appointed to face Patterson. Suddenly the men went silent. The committee walked in empty-handed and conferred with Waters. When Waters said nothing, the crowd started humming again, men whispering to their neighbors, speculation buzzing like flies.

  Dietz hoped Patterson was unharmed and heading uphill to the Gem Mine and relative safety. There seemed to be no absolutely safe refuge anywhere. Finally, the guard from the door walked up to Waters and handed him a folded piece of paper.

  "Men, we have our answer." Waters adjusted his glasses and began reading. After scanning the page in silence, he looked toward the crowded hall. "Mr. Allison sends us his resignation," he said with great pomp over the angry cries from the crowd. The air crackled with hatred and bloodlust.

  Waters banged his gavel for order and continued. "Mr. Allison regrets that he can no longer hold the post of recording secretary. He also cannot continue being a member of the miners' union, when we have been planning to knife him in the dark, under the false impression that he is a private detective, one of the lowest and most degrading professions a mortal man could follow. He says, and I quote, 'to be accused of such a black crime is more than I can stand.'"

  Nice theatrics, Patterson, Dietz thought.

  The reaction of the crowd was mixed, but most men appeared disappointed. There would be no lynching tonight. With the main entertainment for the evening postponed, Waters adjourned the meeting. "Men," Waters said. "I have to call the meeting to a close, but let's not waste the night. Throw open the doors and let's have us our dance!" He banged the gavel. "Meeting adjourned!"

  Shit, a dance. All Dietz wanted to do was go home and crawl into Keely's arms. But he couldn't miss gathering the important information sure to be floating around the wagging tongues of the eager, angry miners. What did they have planned for Patterson?

  Several fellows jumped up on the stage with fiddles and guitars in hand. The guards threw the doors of the hall open. Women, mostly girls from the bordello down in Wallace, tumbled in along with a tide of men from other camps.

  Maybe it wasn't smart to come, Keely thought as she stood in the dark street outside the union hall with several dozen women. Some she recognized as miner's wives, dressed in worn dresses, looking faded and poor and eager for fun, something to make the tension recede into the background, if only for the night. Most of the rest, the gaudy, painted ones who wore gowns too bright and too short, were working girls, obvious whores from the bordellos in Wallace. Keely stood apart from them, both pitying and repulsed.

  Though signs advertising it had been posted earlier in the day, McCullough had not invited her to the dance. Whether out of possessiveness or protectiveness, she did not know. But she didn't intend to miss the fun. She had never danced with McCullough, not once. This might be her last chance. For a while, she amended superstitiously, as if a slip of a thought could seal a fate. For a while.

  She wore the new dress that McCullough had ordered her from Spokane, the one made of emerald green glacé and covered with black-striped drapery net. An evening breeze, moist with dew, blew lightly, ruffling the hem of her gown and dancing across the bare flesh revealed by the low cut. Suddenly, the doors to the union hall flew open. Joe Riley, who guarded the door, grinned at the ladies, bowed comically, and with a sweep of his arm gestured them into the hall.

  Keely half-expected McCullough to be waiting for her, arm extended in welcome. Whatever romantic notions she harbored, she could not find him as her gaze swept the room. The band tuned up and broke into a lively rendition of Johnny Get Your Gun and the room burst into a swirling mass of dancers. Keely frowned. Where is McCullough?

  Beer and whiskey flowed into the room. With every passing moment, every drink consumed, the room buzzed louder with male voices punctuated with female laughter. The whores plied their trade with abandon, dancing, flirting, and cooing to the all too lonely men. Who could blame them? Dietz reasoned that business must be slow so many months after the shutdown. Most of the miners spent, gambled, drank, and whored recklessly at first. But hard times caught up to them, and now most were broke or nearly. Like anyone, the girls needed to eat, needed to work and stay occupied. Who knew, maybe they were as lonely as the men were. At a quarter a dance, at least they stood to earn a little cash tonight.

  One of the painted ladies caught his gaze and beckoned to him. Attractive in a hard, used up, jaded way, she could not compare to Keely. He smiled back but made no move on her. Another Dietz, months ago, might have been tempted, but today he wanted no one but Keely. Over the whore's shoulder, framed in the window behind her, Dietz caught sight of a familiar silhouette. Patterson? What was he doing here?

  Dietz pulled a quarter from his pocket and headed for the door. As he brushed past the whore he handed her the coin. She reached for his arm, trying to pull him into the crowd of lively dancers.

  "No, thanks, darling. Give yourself a rest with my compliments."

  She pouted. "But I like dancing with handsome men."

  He shook his head.

  "If dancing doesn't suit you, I can give you something more."

  "Give or sell?" He laughed when she frowned. "Either case I'm not interested." He brushed past her, wound through the crowd, and stepped into the crisp night air and the shadows where Patterson spoke with a leading member of the Mullen Union, Kelly Kerrey.

  "What are these rumors I hear of trouble?" Patterson asked. As Dietz joined the two, Patterson nodded to him. "Kerrey, you know McCullough?

  Kerrey extended his hand for a shake. "I do. Good to see you."

  "The same." Dietz noticed that Patterson kept his hand at his side, near his trusty firearm the Colt's 45. "What's this I overheard about trouble?"

  "Blood will flow here in the next few days," Kerrey said. "I can't give an exact date. The union bosses are keeping a lid on it. We all have to be ready for our marching orders at a moment's notice."

  "Sure," Patterson said. "Haven't we been ready?"

  Kerrey laughed. "For what's coming up? I don't know. It will be a regular uprising against the scabs and owners. Rumor has it that the riots in Homestead back East a few days ago will look like a skirmish compared to the war that's being planned here."

  Dietz went cold. Time was up. He had to get Keely out, if it wasn't already too late.

  "And you boys will be right at the heart of the action," Kerrey continued. "You ought to be proud. All the neighboring unions have been ordered to concentrate their forces and arms here in Gem."

  "So we're expected to play host to a party when we don't know the date?" Dietz spoke casually. Kerrey slapped him on the back.

  "Heard gossip that it's billed to come off tomorrow night." Kerrey stared toward the dancing in the hall, looking enticed. "But like I said, the Central Union executive committee is keeping it quiet." Kerrey's eyes lit up as he fixed his sights over Dietz into the union hall behind him. "Whoa, now there's a tasty morsel and she's smiling at me. I can't be wasting time with you boys."

  Dietz turned to look back over his shoulder into the hall just as Keely stepped out. "McCullough?"

  "Keely?" Wearing the new special occasion gown he'd had made for her in Spokane; she took Dietz's breath away. Curses to him for letting her get under his skin, for always being on his mind. Now he had to be man enough to leave her.

  "Thank goodness I found you." She came up and took Dietz's arm. "I was beginning to fear for my safety. I thought the men would dance me to death. Without you to protect me I've been pinched, felt up, and propositioned as no decent lady should be."

  "My heart breaks. This woman belongs to you?" Kerrey asked.

  "My wife," Dietz said.

  "My apologies, ma'am. I had hoped your smiles were for me. Now I see I was mistaken. But if you all will excuse me, I may still be able to find a partner." Kerrey tipped his hat and departed, slapping Dietz on the back as he went. Kerrey looked momentarily confused as he looked around to bid Patterson goodbye.

  Patterson had disappeared into the crowd when Keely walked up. Damn. Dietz would have to catch him later. They had plans to make.

  "What are you doing here, Keely?" He tried in vain to keep the emotion from his voice. Could she tell how she affected him? Could she see in him the hurt he was about to inflict on her?

  "Looking for you."

  Her light green eyes bore into him, piercing him with their love and lust. He wanted her forever. One more night would never be enough. "How much did you hear?"

  She held his gaze, but stubborn woman didn't answer.

  "You're leaving tomorrow. First thing, as soon as I can get you to Wallace."

  She didn't argue. "Will you dance with me first?"

  "One dance, lass. Then I'm taking you home. I'm not in a sharing mood tonight. If we stay at the hall, I'm sure to be obliged to give you up for a dance or two."

  Keely took his hand and pulled him into the hall. As they stepped into the light from the darkness, he noticed how young and innocent she looked, how beautiful. A good ten years separated them. Suddenly, he felt every one. Every year that took him from the optimism of youth, the invincibility. Every experience that guided him toward cynicism. He'd seen too much, done too much, hurt and been hurt too many times.

  She led him out to the dance floor. The band struck up a lively tune. With Keely in his arms, they danced a lively two-step, alone in an overwhelming crush of people. Her face flushed, her eyes shone brightly, her laugh tinkled and floated above the buzz of the crowd. Her breasts bounced enticingly. Heat and exercise sparkled on her skin.

  Footsteps tapped the floor in a happy, exuberant cadence. Dancing brought back a familiar, exciting rush. Forget the guilt for one night, Dietz. For this last night. His laugh matched hers. He smiled to encourage her, letting the dangers of the job, the apex of fear and survival instinct push him over the edge into a high that came only when danger beckoned. He lived for risking his life; he just hadn't counted on losing his heart.

  "You dance well." He leaned into her, shouting above the music. You bounce very well, too.

  She mouthed a reply that he could not hear over the music. They pounded round the room again. The music stopped, but to hell with it, he didn't want to stop dancing. He continued whirling Keely around the floor.

  "McCullough, everyone's watching."

  "Let them." He guided her toward the door. "Make way. Let us through."

  The crowd parted.

  Dietz was keenly aware of the way men's gazes followed his wife as he led her toward the door. She was his, and he meant for every man to know it. Just as they reached the doorjamb he pulled her against him and kissed her. Not quickly, but deeply, slowly, languorously, with his tongue obviously in her mouth. He rocked her against him in a kind of dirty dancing most of the lonely miners could only dream about. Let them see his stamp on her. Let them remember how she had belonged to him when they came to court her. Let them remember that no matter what happened or how they were separated, she would only belong to him.

  He pulled away from her before he lost complete control. The crowd cheered. He held her hand in one hand and with the other saluted the crowd. Then he pulled her, laughing, into the street, tugging her along at a pace that forced her into a short, choppy run.

  "We gave them a quite a show, McCullough."

  "Aye, lass. I wanted them to see for themselves who has privileges with you and who doesn't."

  "You think they know now?"

  They reached the boardwalk in front of the boardinghouse. She stumbled as he pulled her up the step. He caught her and pulled her to him, nuzzling her neck. "If they don't they will now. Was dancing with me what you hoped for?"

  "Everything and more." She breathed heavily. Her chest heaved as she caught her breath. He fixed his gaze on those fabulous breasts of hers, rising and falling, sparkling, soft. He kissed her, traveling the length of her neck, kissing the tops of her breast. "Sweet, lass, sweet."

  "McCullough, if you've got more of that in mind, we'd better go inside." She sounded happy, flirtatious. That's what he loved about her. She didn't chide. She wasn't priggish or unnecessarily prudish. She had a way of never pushing him away, of always pulling him in.

  "Not private enough her for you, lass?"

  "Not tonight. Too many men pouring into town. I don't mind the men seeing how I feel about you, but I don't want them seeing all my assets."

  "Your monthlies?"

  "Over."

  A more perfect statement he could not imagine. He should have been dismayed. Now there was no graceful escape, no excuse to stop. She did not carry his child. She would not, unless he gave her an opportunity. He should have walked away, gone back to the action as he intended, made sure he left her with no burden. She looked up at him with those pale green eyes. How could he ever resist her? Selfish bastard that he was, why would he ever want to?

  He pushed the door open, swept her into his arms and carried her back to their room. A pale sliver of moonlight slid in through the window, slanting across the bed. Just inside the bedroom door, he set her down. Then he reached for her and cupped her breasts, drawing them to his lips for a kiss, running his tongue between the cleavage. Salty, earthy, alive, he loved the taste of her. Reluctantly, he released her and moved toward the window. "I'd better draw the curtains." The thud of a dress hitting the floor stopped him short.

  "Tell me what you're doing, Keel."

  "I just took my dress off."

  "So I heard. You want the curtains closed or not?"

  "I'm unbuttoning my shoes."

  He smiled. Though his back was turned to her, he imagined very clearly her slender fingers running nimbly the length of the shoes. Thump. Thump. Then a subtle rustling of skirts, a swish as they hit the floor.

  "Underskirts," she said. "The ones with lace inserts we got in Spokane."

  How did she make her voice sound like silk, sweet and breathy enough to take his away? She was silent a moment. He had a notion to turn around, but liked the game she played too well. "Lass?"

  "Just wiggling out of my corset cover."

  "Wiggling, eh? I'd like to see that."

  She ignored him. "I like the idea of being spotlighted by moonlight. There's nothing back there behind the house but an old hillside. You mind it watching?"

  His heart hammered amid his ribs, pounding out a rhythm, drilling inside him like a sledgehammer against a pin in a mineshaft. But he needed to be drilling Keely. "I mind nothing as long as you don't."

  She laughed. "Garters, silk stockings long and soft, bustle."

  He heard the thud and made a mental inventory. "That leaves, what, a corset and a pair of drawers?"

  "I'm unfastening the corset, a hook at a time now."

  He spun around. "Now don't do that, lass. That's my job." He'd seen whores, rich women, and others, in every imaginable ensemble of lingerie created, but not one ever looked as good as Keely did wearing plain cotton drawers and a corset.

  "I believe that we're unevenly matched now, lass. Turn around while I even the score." She turned slowly, looking in the moonlight like a pale, white angel—his angel, love personified.

  He ached for her now, but he would not rush this night, this last time. He always made love to Keely to a wild, reckless tempo, always trying to shut out himself, always trying to forget McCullough's shadow, the ghost he'd become. Not the real McCullough, he was no threat at all, never had been, but the McCullough Dietz had created, the man Keely believed she loved. Tonight he intended to take it slow, to make love to her as himself, John Dietz, that she might, when she remembered, remember him as the best. But it was not for her alone. Keely had shown him who he was—not actor, not chameleon, but a man who loved her. He intended this night, for himself, to make love to her as that man.