He pulled off his boots and set them by the bed, then shed his shirt and other clothes. He stood barefoot, wearing only his pants as he came up behind her, circled her in his embrace, and nuzzled her neck. She smelled of lavender. "Flowers, Keely?"

  "Lavender on the bedside table, from the garden."

  He hadn't noticed, but now that she mentioned them, a lump rose up in his throat. How was he going to live without her and her flowers? Would a garden ever be as sweet? "On you, lass. I smell lavender."

  She giggled. "I tucked a nosegay into my corset."

  She had no perfume. How had he been so negligent? "When this is over, I'll buy you all the toilet water a girl could want." He made an empty promise. Once a liar, always one, but so help him, if he could, he would have. He pulled her to the bed and onto his lap, facing away from him, stroking her from behind. Soft scents, soft skin, soft curves.

  She wrapped her legs and bare feet around his calves, spread her legs, and settled in on him. "Keely," he whispered, stroking her thighs. She made him forget his technique, his carefully crafted lovemaking process. All he had to do with Keely was follow his senses, touch her, play her body. Loving her felt as natural as breathing, as easy as eating sweets. No one had to teach him this.

  "The corset, McCullough."

  "Not yet, lass." Making love in a corset was like a knight making love in armor, but for the moment, he liked the breathless quality it gave her. A woman cinched tightly could never breathe properly.

  He rocked her on his lap, against him as he rubbed her thighs and touched between her legs, staring over her shoulder at her bouncing breasts. He loved little things about her—the shadow of her breasts, the curve of her hip, all the rounded contours of her body, the way she quivered when she got excited.

  "Ian."

  He hated that name, but tonight he would not let it spoil things. He unlaced the corset and unmolded it from her body, tossing it carelessly away, reaching for the touch of her under the lace vest she wore beneath the corset. Her breath came in a gasp. He pulled the small spray of lavender from its resting place between her breasts, imagining himself nestled there. He could no longer stand the ache. He stood her in front of him and shimmied out of his remaining clothes, watching her do the same. Then he pulled her on top of him and thrust upward.

  They rolled on the bed. He rocked into her, undulating slowly, reining back until he could stand it no more.

  When it was over, he rolled from her, watching her in the moonlight, realizing there had been only two in the bed.

  "Oh, McCullough, look at me." Her voice trembled with joy. "My legs are still quivering from the force of it."

  He loved her forthrightness. Other women, even whores, didn't speak of their pleasure. But his Keely did.

  "Sometimes, after it's over, like tonight, I can still feel you in me, your fullness." She traced his chest with her fingers. "I hate when the feeling goes away. I'd gladly walk like a cowboy the rest of my days, legs straddled, feeling full up with you, if only the feeling would stay."

  She would not forget him. The thought hit him full force. He had never been so thankful. If he could never forget her, neither could she forget him. He knew it would never be the same with another woman. Lust was just lust, and the act the act. Afterwards mattered most, when the person you were with made all the difference. What he felt for Keely went beyond the physical. Knowing the emptiness to come, he should have been ashamed of his gratefulness that he left his imprint in her. But he felt no guilt now, only fulfillment.

  She lifted her face to his. He kissed her mouth, then her neck, then her breasts. "Lavender will always remind me of you, Keely. I promise." He sat up, hearing for the first time since they'd come home the ruckus outside in the streets. He had work to do. "I've got to go. I've got business to attend to."

  She nodded. "Will you be back tonight?"

  "I don't know." He really didn't. He hoped so. "I love you, Keely. I do." He stood and dressed, feeling her watchful gaze upon him.

  Chapter 16

  Dietz slipped into his own room, grabbed his Winchester rifle, and filled his pockets with ammunition. Someone had to warn Monihan at the Gem mine about the coming attack. With Patterson under tight surveillance, he'd inherited the job. He sneaked out the back door of the boarding house, skirted town by way of the woods out back, slipped into the culvert again and wound up behind Patterson's store in a timbered swamp near the bank of Canyon Creek. A movement out in the water, underneath the overhanging trees caught his attention. Dietz froze.

  A man waded through the creek in front of him, holding a rifle over his head, looking like a captured prisoner surrendering. Patterson? Dietz called out to him softly, a whisper on the breeze. The man froze, turned, looked at him, waved him on. Patterson sure enough.

  "What are you doing out here?" And why were they both risking their necks to get to the Gem, Dietz felt like asking.

  "Don't go getting annoyed with me, boy. I have to warn Monihan—"

  "What do you think I'm doing?"

  "You obviously didn't see my little incident at Dutch Henry's." Patterson pressed on, wading farther out into the creek. Dietz moved with him. The creek water felt like ice, so cold through his boots that his toes ached. He'd be glad enough to reach shore.

  "What happened?"

  "The union boys have got two of Monihan's men over at Dutch's, getting them drunker than skunks."

  "What are scabs doing out and about town?" Blasted, foolhardy scabs. They made Dietz peevish. Because of their foolishness, tonight both he and Patterson risked their necks. "You'd think since Mr. French's visit this morning the boys at the mine would have sense enough to stay home. If the union thugs are brazen enough to make an attempt on the Secretary of the Mine Owners' Union in broad daylight, what's to stop them from messing with a few insignificant scabs after dark?" Dietz had little patience with men who took needless risks.

  "French came on a fool's mission. Guess he felt it necessary to make an attempt to settle things peacefully. He should have known better." Patterson paused and looked up at the stars through the rustling leaves of the bushes overhead. Evidently satisfied that they hadn't been detected, he continued on.

  "Should have." Dietz kept his voice low. "Back to the point—there's nothing illegal about getting a couple of scabs drunk, so what brings you out?" All this talking made him nervous. The night air carried sound better than any medium he knew. He didn't want to be blasted in the water like a sitting duck, but Patterson seemed intent on telling a story.

  "One of the union boys told me they're going to kill those two. That's the point of getting them juiced up. I went up to Dutch's to warn those two boys, but they wouldn't listen. One of them is as big as a bear, too big for sense. He claims he can defend himself." Patterson sighed. "That may be true sober one on one, but the union boys don't play fair. I'm off to warn Monihan." Patterson paused. "The Gem seems the safest place for me, all things considered. Now that you know I'm out, you can go back."

  Patterson's speech placated Dietz somewhat. "Could." He kept pace with Patterson, who laughed quietly.

  They reached the edge of the creek. The open bank provided no cover. Down stream union guards stood duty on the bridge. Dietz dropped to his belly to avoid detection. He and Patterson crawled combat style, side by side, in silence. Ahead, cover loomed dense, dark, and enticing.

  Every scratch, every slither, every clink of their gun belts seemed to echo around him, magnified by his fear of detection. Dietz scratched his elbows on the rocks and branches protruding from the bank. Muck caked his shirt and his elbows ached by the time they snaked across the banks to the railroad bed. Shit—gravel.

  Dietz slid over the metal tracks on his stomach. Even so gravel crunched beneath his boot toes, loud and ugly. Voices floated down to him from the bridge, laughing, boasting. Fortunately the union boys, caught up in their own tales, overlooked him.

  Patterson reached the woods. "Run!"

  Dietz pushed up and sprinted toward the mine entrance.

  They found John Monihan, Mine Superintendent, in his office. He didn't seem surprised to see them. "Trouble?" Monihan spoke calmly, but worry lines were etched around his eyes and mouth.

  "Looks like you're expecting some," Dietz said.

  "Union boys streaming into town, guards on the bridge between here and there, what's a man supposed to think?" Monihan pointed out his window.

  "We came to warn you," Dietz said. "Word we got is the union has something big scheduled for tomorrow. But we don't know specifics, just that it will be bigger than what happened in Pennsylvania earlier."

  "You should have saved yourself a trip," Monihan said dryly.

  "That isn't all," Patterson spoke up. "They're planning to murder two of your boys tonight. They've got them over at Dutch Henry's." As Monihan swore under his breath, Patterson related his story. "I went to Dutch's to try and warn them, but while I was seated at the saloon I saw a crowd gathering, watching me. Earlier someone recognized me as a private detective and told the union brass. I resigned my post today.

  "Anyway, before I could convince your boys of the danger, Old Shoemaker came up to me and told me to duck my nut out of there, which, though I hate being bossed around, I did. The one fellow of yours, the big one, seemed to think he could handle them, but I tell you, he's wrong."

  Just then a knock sounded at the door. One of Monihan's guards poked his head in. "Boss, the constable is here. He's got Big Pete with him. He looks bad." Even in the dim light, the guard's face looked pale, and his voice shook.

  The constable's voice rang out from the distance. "Put him in his boss's office, boys." His tone sounded almost gleeful, the bastard.

  "We can't let them find you here," Patterson said to Dietz, and shoved him under Monihan's desk. Crammed into the tight cubbyhole with a chair at his back, Dietz cursed silently. Patterson and Monihan stepped around in front of the desk to block any view of him. Moments later, Dietz heard the constable and his cronies enter the room. A thud sounded as they dumped Big Pete onto the floor unceremoniously. Dietz's heart thudded wildly for a second when Monihan left the desk to bend over Big Pete. Fortunately, the constable didn't deign to bend over and join Monihan in inspecting Big Pete's wounds further. If he had, he would have seen Dietz huddled beneath the desk. All Dietz got was a fine view of the constable's boots.

  "He needs a doctor," the constable said. "Good luck getting him to one. He's a heavy son of a bitch."

  Monihan mumbled something to the constable that Dietz couldn't quite make out. Thanks? That hardly seemed appropriate given the constable's attitude. But then, the constable was one of Judge Brown's henchmen. Maybe this represented a good will gesture, or just the prisoner's last meal, Dietz thought wryly. The constable walked to the door and without further comment, took his boys and left, slamming the door shut behind him.

  Patterson motioned Dietz to come out from beneath the desk. An instant later Dietz got his first view of Big Pete. Monihan had rolled his coat up and tucked it under Big Pete's head like a pillow. Someone else threw a coat over him. The room began to fill with curious scabs and Thiel guards who had seen the constable bring Big Pete in.

  "He hardly looks human, except for his shape," Patterson said slowly, his tone solemn. "They've beat him almost to jelly."

  As he looked at Big Pete, anger erupted inside Dietz and he swore under his breath. "What kind of an animal—"

  Monihan was bending over Big Pete, taking inventory. "Jaw's broke, and only God knows how many ribs. He needs a doctor and fast." Monihan looked up at the men surrounding him in the room. "We can't move him again. Someone needs to go for the doctor."

  Dietz didn't hesitate. "I'll go."

  Patterson frowned at him. "You can't," Patterson said. "It'll blow your cover. You don't think the doctor will tell?"

  Silence echoed off the walls. Finally one guard spoke up. "The road to town is going to be heavily guarded. Going for the doc is a suicide mission."

  "The man will die," Monihan retorted. The men all looked sheepish, but none spoke up.

  A man's courage is best tested under pressure, Dietz thought. He wasn't afraid of going.

  "I'll do it," Patterson said. "The union boys want a piece of my hide already. They can have it sooner if it will save your man."

  One other guard volunteered to go with Patterson. Patterson grabbed his gear and looked to Dietz. "Get back to town, boy. I'll walk you to the road."

  Every muscle ached as Dietz slipped off his boots and tiptoed into Keely's bedroom. He set the boots by the door. He should have bathed, but he had no energy for it. Would Keely notice that the smell of swamp, sweat, and mud replaced alcohol tonight? Would she care or question it?

  Keely didn't stir as he prowled around stripping off his filthy clothes. The realization jolted him with guilt. A wife shouldn't have to get so comfortable with her husband's late night carousing that she didn't even wake when he came home. Moonlight shone in an arc around her, highlighting her fair complexion. Her features relaxed in sleep, worries forgotten for the moment. She should look like that all the time, he thought—beautiful, safe.

  Keely deserved more than the lying, imitation bastard of a husband he was. How could he have done this to her? Why did his conscience always attack him when fatigue weighed him down? A few more days and he would leave and make things right. As right as he could.

  He slid into bed and curled up behind her, threw his arm over her. She stirred and snuggled into him, pushing her tight little bottom up against him. He might have started something if he hadn't been so tired. Instead, he settled in, content. He was going to miss this. How would he live without it?

  The heat made Dietz grumpy as he stood in the sun and barked orders at his platoon of men like a military sergeant. He'd been drilling them since early morning, marching them up and down the street in a mock military parade, waiting for the orders from the Central Union bosses to move out. Move out and do what? The union bosses must have put the fear of the devil into those in the know. No one was singing. Frustrated that he couldn't glean any useful information, Dietz ordered his men to keep moving.

  That the union bosses didn't even trust McCullough, renowned union terrorist, irked Dietz. That they assigned him the menial task of drilling the men angered him further. But at least it gave him an opportunity to keep an eye on Patterson's store. Guards surrounded it, posted by the union.

  Dietz knew Patterson had returned to Gem and holed up in the store. He'd seen him come off the train this morning, toting a Winchester rifle and strutting bold as brass down the street. Had he been to see Mr. French? Had he warned him? Patterson never faltered where courage counted. Shortly after that Dietz had seen a contingency of union boys go into the store. That set him on edge. Dietz kept marching his boys back and forth in front of the store, trying to figure how many union fellows he could take out if it came to that to help Patterson, waiting for an ominous round of fire. Neither occurred. A few minutes after the union boys arrived, they left. Bill Black, a known desperado, had given Dietz the thumbs up as they left the building.

  "Good job, McCullough. That little show ought to have scared that damned spy sure enough."

  Dietz had nodded. "You let him live?"

  Black's returning laughter echoed eerily off the buildings. "Son of a bitch asked the same question. I told him same as I'll tell you—the time isn't right." Black shook his head, amused, and laughed again.

  "You let me know," Dietz said, speaking before his silent men. "I want in on it."

  Black nodded. "Sure, you and everybody else." He descended the steps from the store into the street and looked Dietz levelly in the eye. "Tell you what, McCullough. Because of your reputation, I'll let you in on the action." He clapped Dietz on the shoulder. "But it won't be for a bit. He isn't going anywhere. The fool says he's planning on staying until we carry him out a corpse." Black chuckled. "Looks like he's going to get his wish." Black walked off, pausing to call back over his shoulder. "Whip those boys into shape, McCullough. There'll be fireworks soon, and we'll need every man."

  Throughout the remainder of the day, Dietz kept looking for an angle, a way to help Patterson escape. All the while his uneasiness grew. He pulled back from his thoughts and noticed that the men looked worn out and edgy. Dietz called for them to break ranks and take a rest. Just as he did, Conrad, one of Brown's henchmen, came riding down the street up to Dietz.

  "How's the drilling going?" he called out.

  "Fine." Dietz reached for his canteen and took a sip of water. "What brings you out?"

  The men gathered around, expecting news. Conrad leaned down and whispered to him. "Let the men get some rest. I came to tell you that we'll be blowing up the Frisco Mill just before daybreak. Pass the word along."

  "You're awful casual about the plan. You aren't worried about the owners getting word?"

  "Nah. We'll be blockading the town. No one will be coming or going. How's the word to get to them?" Conrad winked and rode off.

  Dietz's heart stood still for a bare second, and then thumped wildly into action. Keely—he had to get her out of town now, immediately, before it was too late. He dismissed the men and ran across the street into the boarding house. Keely stood over the stove cooking something that smelled good.

  "Shut the stove off, Keely." Dietz spoke without preamble.

  She turned and looked blankly at him, then quizzically. He went to her and taking her by the elbow, pulled her away. "Get your bags. I'm taking you to Wallace. Now."