She hurried across the street. Because she was a woman, the men probably would not have harmed her. They hadn't beaten up a woman yet. Tossed her out of the way—certainly. Pawed her up, yes. Burning the boardinghouse, running her out of town, terrorizing her—in that frenzied mood, now spent, she believed them capable of all of that. Thank God for McCullough! What would she have done without him? In the future she must check her indignation. After all, she sympathized with the union, if not always with their methods.

  Dietz staggered up the boardwalk to the boarding house. It was late. The sky had clouded up again. Nary a star lit his way in. Too much whiskey swirled his thoughts in an ugly direction. Blood. The sight of Waller beaten, maybe dying. He tried to push the images away, but they remained, distorted and inflated by drink. Usually alcohol numbed his senses, but not tonight.

  He wasn't squeamish. In his days as a cowpuncher he'd seen good men gored by bulls, trampled by runaway cattle. Working as a private detective he'd seen his share of killing. Thoughts of McCullough's vacant stare came to him. Killing in self-defense was one thing, but this blatant bloodlust...

  He shivered. Patterson was right. These union men were rabid anarchists. And Keely Byrne lived right in the midst of it all.

  Keely. Now that's what made him squeamish. His reaction to her. She lived in a world on the opposite side of his. He shouldn't be feeling a thing for her, not one. So why couldn't he shake the impact she'd made on him that afternoon?

  He stumbled up the front step and collided with the front doorframe, cursing. He paused at the door. Well, one thing was certain. Miss Keely Byrne wasn't going to be happy with McCullough's behavior tonight. He'd be lucky if she didn't throw McCullough out. But Dietz wasn't so pleased with her antics earlier, either.

  He pushed the front door open, anticipating slipping quietly upstairs, but his boots clunked noisily on the wooden floor. As he slipped them off, he paused, trying to remember what room was his. That was the problem with being so many people. You were always trying to recall where home was.

  "McCullough?" A gentle, feminine voice sliced through the silence.

  Dietz started and turned toward the sound. Keely sat in the dark at the kitchen table. Why hadn't he noticed her? Damned whiskey.

  In the dark, he couldn't make out her features, only her silhouette. Her hair fell loose over her shoulders. He heard the clinking of glass, like the lid of a kerosene lamp being removed, then the strike of a match. Suddenly, she was illuminated at the table. She wore nightclothes, a white wrapper with gown peeking through. To his surprise, she didn't look angry. Her green eyes sparkled in the light, like she was happy to see him. After he'd ordered her home and caroused all night, how could that be?

  "Keely. You shouldn't have waited up." Did his voice sound slurred?

  "Have a seat, McCullough." She kicked a chair out for him opposite her.

  He should have apologized. At least, he felt that's what McCullough should have done. John Dietz had never operated by the clock and had never been keen on commitment or asking forgiveness. Probably had to do with being on his own so young. But Keely didn't seem to be expecting an apology, so he didn't offer one.

  "How was the meeting?"

  "The meeting?"

  "After I left."

  She was cool.

  "Productive." Dietz dropped into the chair. It felt good to sit, but disconcerting to be stared at so obviously. What was the woman looking for? Worse still, he had a hard time focusing on her face. His gaze kept drifting to the well-formed nipples poking through the thin cotton of her wrapper. Damn whiskey. It always made him amorous.

  Maybe it had been too long since he'd been with a woman. It sure had been too long since he'd been with a good woman, if, indeed, he ever had. But he couldn't fool himself. Keely Byrne was attractive. He'd always been partial to dark, auburn hair and green eyes—and curves.

  "Productive," Keely repeated. "You'll have to be more specific. Does the scab live?"

  Dietz nodded, too tired and too drunk to keep up pretenses with Keely. If anyone would find him out, she would. "But we sent a message to the owners. One they can't well ignore."

  Keely nodded, looking hesitant. "I'm sorry. I owe you an apology. I should have trusted you—"

  "Damn right, lass."

  "But I didn't know if you were still back in Burke or not." She hardly looked contrite.

  "You could have gotten yourself run out of town." Maybe it was only the drink, but the conversation made little sense to Dietz. She apologized when he should have?

  She smiled and shrugged. "Wouldn't have happened. You would have protected me."

  "You have great faith in my abilities, especially considering you didn't think I'd be there."

  "Lunn wouldn't let them harm me either."

  Damn that Lunn. Dietz needed to shift topics.

  "Why aren't you mad at me?" Damn, that was Dietz talking, not McCullough. What did it matter anyway, other than it was blasted odd? Even the whores he kept company with on other missions got possessive. And this woman had every right to be, but wasn't. He was supposed to be her fiancé, and he sure hadn't acted like it. He'd have to remedy that before she got suspicious. He hadn't brought her a present or anything. He tried to think, but the whiskey fog blocked him. Did McCullough have a present for her among his things? Women liked gifts.

  "Mad at you for what? For being late? For being drunk? Why should I be? You saved the scab and still managed to make a point to the owners. What is a little drunkenness compared to that? You like your drink, like Michael did. I wouldn't have expected different. Besides, once we met Mr. Allison, I knew you wouldn't be coming back for supper. And after the incident by the tavern, I realized you might not come back till dawn. I never made that special pie. I'll make it tomorrow."

  What kind of a life had Keely led? How had Michael schooled her to be so blasted tolerant? He resisted the urge to shake his head. Keely stared at him intently. "I'm glad you're not mad, but what in the devil are you staring at?"

  "You." She smiled, looking almost shy for the first time.

  "Me?"

  "You don't look exactly like you described yourself."

  Dietz's heart thudded, pounding so loud it hurt his head. If she decided he wasn't McCullough after all...

  He forced a lopsided grin. "How so?"

  "Your eyes." Her voice grew soft. "They're not plain old blue, like you said. They're, well, they're nearly violet." Her voice became breathy, too alluring. "Ian McCullough, you're so beautiful, you're nearly perfection." Her gaze fell from his face.

  What the hell? No woman had ever spoken of him so tenderly before. He was oddly moved, and damned uncomfortable. Coming on top of all that had happened today, he didn't like it one bit.

  She stood. "Let me make you some coffee. Michael always liked to chat over a cup of coffee when he got back from a meeting." Her words were simple enough, but she sounded almost forlorn, a shade uneasy. What had he done now?

  Dietz shoved his chair back and came around the table to stand in front of her. "Don't bother about the coffee, Keely. I don't need any." He caught her chin and pulled her face up, forcing her to look at him. Her fair skin felt soft against his rough hand, as soft as he imagined. "Something wrong, Keely?"

  Her eyes misted, making him uncomfortable. He'd always been a sucker for a vulnerable woman. "I'm just a camp cook and a boarding house worker. Why would a man as powerful, smart, and handsome as you want me?"

  Dumbfounded, he dropped his hand from her chin.

  "What will I do, McCullough, if you don't want me?"

  Dietz couldn't believe her words. Either the woman was amazingly coy, or she really believed what she said. On any account, her words sliced through him like a stiletto. Damned guilt again. "You'd be the same strong, independent woman you've shown me through your letters these last years. You'd get by. But that isn't going to happen, darling." What was he saying?

  She looked up at him. Almost without thinking, he bent to kiss her. Her lips were moist when they met his, and there was nothing shy about the way she pressed herself against him. He felt himself go long and hard. All the ugly thoughts and incidents of the night faded away. The soft, round feel of Keely against him, and the innocent probing of her tongue consumed him. He crushed her to him in a long embrace, tracing her shapely backside with his hands. The heavy thudding of boots on the boardwalk outside brought him to his senses. Damn, he had to pull away before he went too far. Another bolt of conscience come from nowhere.

  As the footsteps receded into the night, he separated from Keely. The light made her eyes emerald, and she looked wild and flushed, and eager. He liked the sight of her far too much.

  She cleared her throat and straightened the folds of her wrapper. He couldn't help himself from speaking. "You have nothing to worry about, Keely."

  She laughed self-consciously, sounding genuinely happy. "Seems like we'd better discuss the wedding tomorrow." She looked up at him from under her thick lashes. "Time for bed." She pointed to the stairs. "Third door on the left."

  He picked up his boots and walked to the stairs while she picked up the kerosene lamp and went to the hall on the main floor. He turned back to watch her just as she disappeared into the black hall toward her ground floor room.

  He hoped it was only the whiskey obscuring his good sense and stirring his desires, but Keely was having far too great an effect on him. Watch it, Dietz, that woman could bring nothing but trouble and heartache. Let her under his skin and he'd lose all perspective about the operation and his cover, maybe even his jaded heart, along with it.

  Back in her room, Keely latched the door shut and plopped onto her back on her deep featherbed, sighing happily as the bed squeaked beneath her weight. McCullough's kiss still sang on her lips. The feel of his hands caressing her body was a memory so pleasant it felt real. What a day this had been! A day unequaled in all her life.

  McCullough had come and was more than mere man. Handsome, devastatingly so, smart, strong, brave, honest, compassionate. A knight, her knight. A dream realized so completely she barely dared to believe it true. Yet it was!

  Like Lunn had done this afternoon, people always accused her of being too trusting. But in this instance, her faith had not been misplaced. It might be true that a man could impersonate traits in a letter, pretend to be something different than his true self. But a man's actions showed his real character, and from what she'd seen, McCullough had plenty. Deep down she knew that if she couldn't trust McCullough with her heart, there wasn't a man alive she could.

  Chapter 4

  What had come over Keely? Why had she admitted her fears and insecurities to McCullough when she needed to show him strength? But she had always wondered why McCullough had chosen her from all the women of his acquaintance, women he had seen and known. Why go with a blind choice?

  McCullough stood above local men in power and reputation. He could have any woman he chose. Why her, a poor girl without position or connections?

  Before he came, she half-feared he must be hideously deformed, or uncommonly hard to get along with in person. Of course, Michael had always claimed the contrary. But when McCullough arrived and she saw how handsome he was, her insecurities resurfaced.

  At first he hadn’t acted like the McCullough of her letters, not until the kiss. Then she knew that he felt all he had expressed with his pen. Keely sighed. "McCullough," she whispered into the darkness. She couldn't wait to become his wife.

  Dietz woke. The unfamiliar surroundings didn't disorient him. He never stayed in one place long enough for things to become homey. But the thick pounding in his temples felt all too familiar. He rolled onto his side and reached for the water pitcher on the bedside table. Drinking plenty of water helped fight off the effect of too much whiskey. Man, had he had too much.

  The night had tormented him with sensual, drugged dreams of Keely. He rubbed his temple. If one lousy kiss could cause all this discomfort—he was indeed a desperate man.

  He fell back onto the pillow, trying to remember the events that had occurred before he’d come home the previous night—without the gory details. Hazy memories flooded back.

  Waters had put him in charge of planning the holdup of the scab train on Thursday. But they'd all been too drunk to think clearly. Still, he'd better wire the owners right away. Damn, a clandestine four-mile walk to Wallace didn't sound the least enticing. He'd save himself a second trip if he came up with his plan for the holdup and wired that along with his first report. The owners better be smart enough to foil the union's plan without casting suspicion on him.

  Keely drifted back into his thoughts. Stick to business. Search McCullough's saddlebags for a present and a ring. He seemed to recall a wrapped package. He hadn't paid much attention when he’d perused McCullough's things before. What kind of a suitor had McCullough been? Keely wrote uninhibited, intimate letters to McCullough, letting her ideas and thoughts flow freely, but speaking little of love. How had McCullough responded? Did he keep his feelings to himself or embarrass her with fond sentiments?

  McCullough hadn't spoken much about Keely. Not much more than to admit she existed, which had surprised the hell out of Dietz the first time McCullough had mentioned that he had a fiancée. Why did he need a wife? He had a mistress of long standing whom he abused on a regular basis and any number of one night encounters and relationships of short duration.

  His mistress had provided the reason for McCullough to flee Pennsylvania. One night, thoroughly pickled after a night of heavy drinking, McCullough had beaten her up, not for the first time by any accounting method. New and surprising, however, was her sudden desire to see him prosecuted for his crimes. That in itself would not have worried McCullough enough to send him scurrying to Idaho. But all the terrorist secrets he'd shared with her over the years had him worried a good piece. Angry and scorned, she might be tempted to use his confidences against him. So McCullough had fled, Dietz at his side, intent on heading to Idaho to stir up more trouble and marry a girl there. Maybe McCullough thought a wife would add an element of respectability to him? That's all Dietz could figure.

  McCullough ranked as a first class bastard, which made Dietz feel only slightly less guilty about deceiving Keely than he otherwise might. No matter how low Dietz's deception ranked, it paled when compared to how McCullough would have treated Keely.

  Still, odd as it was, McCullough wrote to Keely every night, mailing the letters when he could. Dietz sat up and swung out of bed. He washed up at the basin, toweled off, pulled on his clothes, and combed his hair before digging into McCullough's bags.

  There, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine with her name scrawled across it in a bold, sloppy hand sat the parcel. McCullough's? Dietz studied it, trying to memorize the way it looked before he passed the package on to Keely. His own writing looked nothing the same. Could he avoid writing anything she'd see until his mission ended? He hoped so.

  Dietz hefted the package—a book. He hoped something touching like poetry or sonnets. He had no choice but to trust McCullough's taste in gifts. He rifled through the rest of the bags looking for a wedding ring. Nothing. Dietz frowned, McCullough hadn't had a ring on him either. Quite the romantic—a book, no ring. He stuffed McCullough's things back in his bags and glanced at his pocket watch. Time to head downstairs for breakfast.

  He found Keely frying ham and potatoes and serving two old men. She looked up at him and called a greeting as he clumped down the last steps. She looked fresh and pretty, all flushed from the heat of the stove.

  "Come meet two of my other boarders, Sly and Pickins. McCullough."

  The men grunted and nodded as Keely bent to set their breakfast before them. Before she straightened, Dietz got a quick view of the ample curve of her breast—whoa! She wore a white apron covering a worn, faded work dress, shapeless and old, but still unable to hide her voluptuous figure. If she had just one outfit like those of the fancy ladies Dietz usually associated with on missions, she'd put them to shame.

  "Since the mines shut down Sly and Pickins have been my only early risers," Keely said.

  "We work our own claim," Sly cut in.

  "You don't say." Dietz took a seat at the table. "Hope you use union labor."

  The two weathered men laughed in unison. They looked like brothers. "We don't work for silver," Sly said.

  "Nah," Pickins said. "We got us a gold stake."

  "Gold?" The old men amused Dietz. "Aren't you boys about twenty years too late for that? Last gold I heard about in Idaho was up in Murray, about that long ago."

  "What would you know about that, young man? You had to be nothing but a boy twenty years ago." Sly sounded insulted. "We'll find us our gold, mark my words."

  You had to admire their optimism. Dietz smiled and nodded.

  "All the gold taken was by placer mining and panning. I ask you where all that gold came from," Pickins said.

  Dietz shrugged. Keely winked at him behind the men's backs.

  Sly nodded. "There's got to be a vein."

  "Might be," Dietz said. "Where's your claim?"

  Keely came around to set a plate of food in front of him and smiled boldly. He liked a brash woman. Unfortunately, he liked this particular one too much for any good to come of it. How was he supposed to postpone the wedding and keep to himself when his body reacted to her the way it did? He wanted more than a look—he wanted a feel, a good one. He hadn't imagined he'd be fighting himself, too.

  "The boys never reveal the location of their latest stake," she said.

  Dietz laughed. "Didn't mean any offense. I hope you fellows are looking on the south side of the Valley. Isn't that where legend says it should be?" One thing about private detectives—they knew their subject. Dietz had always been a quick study. He had picked up the history of the Valley without much trouble.

  "We'll never say, young man," Pickins said.

  "What's that tucked under your arm, McCullough?" Keely asked.

  Dietz handed her the package. "For you. I meant to give it to you yesterday, but I got distracted. My apologies."