She went on to describe how she stayed clear of Roen, and since his progress was slow—on account of Clay, she knew now—she was able to get out in front of them and find a protected place in the crags and crooks of the mountainside.

  Lily’s eyes widened fractionally as she listened. “Where did you get the rifle, Fedora?”

  “From the hotel. It was Ellie’s. I hid it under my coat until I was out of town.”

  “You went to great lengths to shoot Mr. Shepard. It’s a little frightening.”

  Fedora nodded. She set her hands on the table, folded them. “Yes. I understand why you think that, but it was never my intention to shoot him. I meant to scare him away. These railroad men frighten easily when they’re on their own. Without thugs to protect them, they scatter like roaches.”

  Roen cleared his throat to remind Fedora he was still sitting at the table. Sometime during her recitation she seemed to have forgotten that. It was Lily’s faint smile of amusement that made him get over himself. She would remind him about the roaches remark later; he was sure of it.

  Lily asked, “What if one of the Hardy brothers had been arrested for the shooting? Had you considered that?”

  “Yes. I would have turned myself in.”

  Lily had no reason to doubt her. “My son was there.”

  Fedora swallowed hard. Tears came to her eyes, but she made no move to dash them away. When Lily pushed a handkerchief toward her, she crumbled it in her fist. “I didn’t know it was Clay. I didn’t know it was a child. I thought Mr. Shepard had George Hotchkiss with him.”

  Roen sputtered and then caught himself. “I can see why you could have thought it was George. He’s wiry and about Clay’s height.”

  “You pushed him aside. That’s why my shot caught you. If you hadn’t moved . . .”

  “No,” said Roen. “I have no fault in what you did.”

  “I know,” she said, sniffing. “The fault is mine.” Fedora pressed the handkerchief to her nose. “Are you sure you don’t want to take me to jail?”

  “I am not even tempted, Fedora, so put it out of your mind. Why didn’t you try again?”

  Fedora stared at him, astonished by the question. “I shot you. I will never try that again.”

  “Good to know,” he said wryly. “I take it this means that Mr. Cabot is also safe.”

  “Don’t tease her,” said Lily.

  “I don’t know that I was teasing exactly.”

  Fedora looked from Lily to Roen and back to Lily again. “Ellie said I could have my job back at the hotel if I wanted it. I’ll tell her you weren’t satisfied with my work. Will that be all right?”

  “No,” said Lily. “If you leave, it will be because you want to, not because we’re asking you to. Roen and I discussed this last night. We decided that if you took responsibility, we would want you to stay. You have and we do.”

  Fedora looked down at her hands. “I am ashamed.”

  There was nothing either Lily or Roen could say to that. They sat with silence for a while. Roen eventually excused himself and went to his study. Lily got up and began washing the dishes that were still in the sink. Fedora stayed where she was, head bowed, occasionally pressing Lily’s handkerchief to her eyes. It was only after Lily had left the room, touching her lightly on the shoulder as she passed, that Fedora finally wept in earnest.

  * * *

  • • •

  Victorine was annoyed. That Roen continued to avoid her was like a splinter in her thumb. She could ignore it for only so long before she had to pick at it again. It occurred to her that she should force a second confrontation but was uncertain where she should do it. Would he accept an invitation to her suite, where they would have privacy, or would he agree to see her only in public? Perhaps a location where there would be only a few witnesses would be better. He might be agreeable to that, and she required but a single person to overhear their conversation.

  She considered the proper venue. Her familiarity with the town was sufficient for her to have choices. The majority of the shops, as she ticked them off on her fingers, were not right for her purposes, although the drugstore with its soda fountain bar was a possibility. She kept that in mind as she considered other places that might work. Her face brightened considerably when she hit upon the perfect setting.

  Victorine gestured to Ellie Butterworth to attend to her at her table. She smiled warmly, with no hint of guile, when the older woman came over with a teapot in hand.

  “More tea?” asked Ellie, raising the pot to pouring height.

  “No, thank you. A favor if you will. Could you send that child around? The one I see here from time to time?”

  “You mean Frankie Fuller?”

  “If he’s the one who has performed small tasks for me before, then yes.”

  “He’s not here at the moment. He’s in school, but he’ll stop by afterward. It won’t be long now. The school day is about over. Shall I send him up to your suite?”

  “Yes. Do that.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  “No. That will be sufficient.” Victorine was aware that the teapot was still hovering above her cup. “Is there something you wish to ask, Mrs. Butterworth?”

  “As a matter of fact,” said Ellie, withdrawing the teapot, “my husband and I were wondering if you intend to extend your stay for another week. We’ve had requests for the suite and need to know how to respond to them. We thought you might want to return to New York for Christmas.”

  “Yes. Christmas. I’d forgotten. When is it? Three weeks away?”

  “A bit less than that.”

  Victorine nodded, pretending to consider. “I’m afraid I can’t give you a firm answer. I simply don’t know. I will pay for at least one more week, and I will let you know if I require another after that. Will that be all right?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  Victorine watched Ellie wend her way between the tables and return to the kitchen. For all that the old busybody was polite about it, Victorine was aware that she wanted her gone. It was too bad, really. Victorine was developing a certain fondness for the hotel, enough affection, at any rate, that she no longer entertained thoughts of burning it to the ground.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  “Hey, Frankie,” Clay said, opening the front door to his friend. “You need some help with an odd job?”

  Frankie shook his head. Only his brown eyes were visible above his woolen scarf and below his hat. He pulled down the scarf to reveal a seriously set mouth and a cluster of freckles across his nose and cheeks. “I’m here on an odd job. Got a letter for your da from that lady at the hotel.” He pulled an envelope from inside his coat and held it out to Clay. “Go on,” he said. “Smell it. That’s her scent there. Hounds could follow it all the way to San Francisco.”

  Clay sniffed, wrinkled his nose. “Huh. Hounds could probably follow it farther than that. C’mon in before Ma tells me I’m letting the cold in or the heat out. It’s always something.” He closed the door behind Frankie. “Wait here. I’ll get Da.”

  Frankie waved to Hannah, who was curled in one corner of the sofa in the parlor. She returned his wave shyly and went back to reading. Lizzie and Ham didn’t pay him any mind, but Mrs. Shepard looked up from her sewing and smiled at him. He shuffled his feet a little and smiled back. She was looking awfully pretty these days. Frankie thought a fellow might hurt his eyes if he stared too long so he looked at his feet instead. Besides, she was his best friend’s mother, and it gave him a queer feeling when he thought about her being pretty. There was a time he just thought of her as old and sad. He should go back to that.

  Approaching footsteps made Frankie look up. Clay and Mr. Shepard were coming toward him. He held out the envelope. “Miss Headley said I was to give this to you and wait for your reply.”

  Roen sighed heavily, but he took the envelope and turned his back on Frankie and Clay while he opened it. He wrinkled his nose at the scent that was released as he unfolded Victorine’s letter. It required only a single glance to take in the totality of her message. He refolded it and slid it back into the envelope. Aware that he was clenching his jaw, Roen forced himself to adopt a pleasant mien when he faced Frankie and Clay again.

  “Tell her that will be fine,” he said to Frankie.

  Frankie repeated the words and then asked if there was anything else.

  “Not a thing,” said Roen. “You tell her what I said. It will be enough.” He found a coin in his pocket and held it out to Frankie. “For your trouble.”

  “No trouble, sir.” But he took the coin from Roen’s hand as deftly as the Artful Dodger. “See you in the morning,” he said to Clay.

  Clay nodded and opened the door for him. Once Frankie was gone, Clay turned his suspicious expression on Roen. “I never heard you say you know that lady.”

  “I don’t suppose I thought it was any of your business.” His tone was both pleasant and serious.

  Clay took the reprimand on the chin, but he also cast a wary look over his shoulder at his mother. Her head was bent toward her work. He couldn’t tell if she’d heard any part of the conversation in the entranceway, and if she had, whether she was disturbed by it.

  “Clay.” Roen drew the boy’s attention back to him. “Your mother is aware that I know Miss Headley. Nothing about the letter that Frankie delivered will surprise her.” Roen was met by Clay’s dubious expression. “You can’t stop yourself from worrying about her, can you?”

  “No, sir.”

  Roen put a hand on Clay’s shoulder. “All right. I understand. But may I advise you on one point?” Clay nodded and Roen continued. “Don’t be so obvious about it. For myself, I don’t mind, but your mother does not want you to be concerned for her welfare. She is doing splendidly on her own.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “I do.”

  Clay nodded, his shoulders relaxed. “That’s good, then.” He pivoted and returned to the kitchen, where he had been refilling lamps.

  Roen caught Lily’s eye when she looked up as soon as Clay disappeared. He tilted his head toward the workroom. She set her sewing aside and followed him.

  “What was that about?” she asked, closing the door and leaning against it to bar interruptions.

  Roen handed her the envelope. “From Victorine. It’s why Frankie was here.”

  “Oh. I was trying not to show too much interest.” She opened the envelope and read the letter. “Tomorrow? She wants to meet with you tomorrow? But you and I planned to finish your last survey.”

  “I hadn’t forgotten, but I told Frankie to let her know that I was fine with this.”

  Lily did not take pains to conceal her disappointment. “I wish you had consulted me. I would have suggested that keeping her waiting at least one more day would be a better strategy than appearing to be at her beck and call.”

  “I have no intention of meeting her tomorrow. You and I have plans and we’re going to see them through.”

  “You lied? You don’t lie.”

  Roen chuckled. “I am climbing down from that pedestal now. I’ll meet with Victorine at a time of my choosing and preferably with little advance notice. It will be better if she doesn’t have time to plan.”

  “If you think she is going to arrive with a derringer in her reticule, then I forbid you to go.”

  He blinked. “Forbid?”

  “Yes.” Lily was unapologetic. She tossed the letter and envelope on the table. “I forbid it.”

  “All right,” he said easily. “But I don’t think that. She has something other than a pistol up her sleeve . . . or in her reticule.”

  “Not amusing, Roen.”

  “She’s not going to shoot the man she claims is the father of her baby.”

  Lily shuddered. She had been largely successful at ignoring the fact of Victorine’s pregnancy.

  Roen closed the distance to Lily and took her by the elbows. “I promise it will be fine.” He bent his head and kissed her lightly on the mouth. “Promise.” When he pulled back, Lily was still frowning. “What do I need to do to convince you?”

  “Take me with you.”

  Roen arched one eyebrow then the other. “Why?”

  “Because if you’re lying to me and it is dangerous, you won’t allow me to accompany you.”

  “I liked it better when you thought I didn’t lie.”

  She ignored that. “Well? I think it’s time we met, Victorine and I.”

  He winced. “That’s not something that’s generally done in polite society, introducing one’s wife to one’s former mistress.”

  “What gave you the idea that Frost Falls cares two bits for polite society? Our wedding reception was in a saloon. Buzz Winegarten used to court Amanda Springer and now her husband tends bar for him. Our doctor stopped a bank robbery with a soup bone. The sheriff, who may or may not be the bastard child of Thaddeus Frost, was responsible for burning a barn to the ground out at Twin Star, and his deputy is head over heels in love with a China girl who could have killed you if she’d had a mind to.”

  Roen said the only thing that occurred to him. “A soup bone?”

  “Some other time. What do you say?”

  “The library’s open to everyone. I guess that means you can be there, too.”

  Pleased with herself, Lily put her arms around Roen’s neck and planted kisses on his mouth, his jaw, his cheeks, and bit him gently on his neck just above his collar. She laughed when he pressed her hard against the door.

  “What?” he whispered at her ear. “I like it when you’re full of yourself. You’re a lively handful.”

  “Is that your idea of a compliment?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right, then.” Lily turned her head so he could nuzzle more of her neck. Her breasts swelled above the edge of her corset when he passed a hand over them. Even through the fabric of her gown and shift, she could feel the heat of his palm. Lily didn’t know when he put his hands on her waist that he intended to lift her, but that’s what he did. She wrapped her legs around him as he carried her to the table and she only lowered her legs once he set her down. He pushed up her skirt and palmed her bare knees above her stockings. He stepped into the space she made for him and he slid his hands under her shift and up her inner thighs.

  Lily was a captive of his dark chocolate eyes. She imagined falling into them and liking it so much that she would stay there, joined to him in some fantastical manner, and know nothing but the pleasure of a hedonistic existence.

  He touched his forehead to hers. “I don’t want you to wear drawers. In fact, I forbid it.”

  “Forbid?” Her breath brushed his lips.

  “Yes.”

  She drew back and studied his face. “You’re serious.”

  “I am.”

  “I couldn’t.”

  “You could.” Roen caught her mouth again in a kiss that teased and tempted. Her lips were a feast for his senses, warm and tender and pliant. She placed her hands on either side of his face and held him. What he began, she encouraged. Her mouth was damp. The kiss was humid. He found the drawstring to her drawers and pulled at it.

  Lily came up for air and gripped the edge of the table. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting rid of these. They’re in the way.”

  “Roen!”

  He lowered them as far as her hips. When she didn’t help him, he pinched her lightly on her bottom. “Lift.”

  Laughing under her breath, Lily slapped at his arm. “I will not.”

  “You won’t?”

  She shook her head. “There are four children in the next room, any one of whom could walk in here.”

  “That’s it?” he asked. “That’s your reason? I’m putting a lock on the door.”

  “No. No locks.”

  Roen righted her drawers but left his palms cupping her bottom. “You mean that.”

  “I’m afraid so. This is a poor time to tell you, but there was a lock on my bedroom door in the old house. Jeremiah installed it when Clay and Hannah were older. He used it mostly when he beat me because he could not abide their interference. I promised them there would no locked doors in this house. Ever. It’s a promise I aim to keep. They trust you. I trust you, but a locked door would provoke unhappy memories.”

  Roen closed his eyes. The scene that played out in his mind was too horrible to contemplate for long, but he did because she had lived it. He could imagine Hannah and Clay on the other side of the door, listening to their father using his fists against their mother, helpless to stop it. He opened his eyes and stared into hers. “Oh, Jesus, Lily.”

  She laid a hand against his cheek. “It’s done,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry to tell you now. Sorry you had to know.”

  “Don’t apologize for him.”

  She blinked. “I wasn’t.”

  “You wouldn’t have to say any of it if he hadn’t used his fists on you. I swear to God, Lily, if he were here . . .” He stopped, letting his voice trail off, because it was an empty threat. There was nothing he could do. The feeling of helplessness overwhelmed him as it had overwhelmed her children. “I hate that this happened to you.”

  “I know,” she said.

  “I hate that I can’t make it right.”

  “Don’t you understand, Roen? You already have.” She leaned into him, dropped her hand from his cheek to his shoulder, and placed her mouth over his. It was a tender kiss, the kind of kiss that made all things better, a kiss that healed scrapes and bruises and made hearts right again.

  When she drew back, he was smiling. “What?” she asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”