A Kiss in the Morning Mist Read online

  Eamon jumped up from his seat at the touch of her fingers and backed himself away from her, the rosy color adorning his cheeks bringing out the bluish specks in his gray eyes. He swallowed several times, his Adam’s apple bobbing, then licked his lips as if his mouth had gone dry. “Th-thank you. That was m-most kind.” He ran his hand through his hair, then dipped his head. “Good night.”

  Kind? Kindness had nothing to do with it. She had wanted to touch him—and wanted him to touch her—so why couldn’t she just say that? Theo opened her mouth, the words flooding her throat and watched her opportunity walk out the door before she could summon up the courage to stop him. He’d even forgotten the coffee he’d come in for.

  Theo sighed, tossed the towel on the table, and grabbed the broom leaning against the counter.

  Coward! I’m no silly young girl. If I want him, I should tell him.

  She swept the kitchen floor, cleaning up the remains of seven haircuts.

  I do want him. The thought raced through her mind as she settled the children into bed for the night, then changed into her own nightgown and brushed out her hair.

  I will tell him. She slipped beneath the light blanket and snuggled into the mattress. Or ask him. In the morning.

  She yawned and listened to the familiar creaks and groans of the house settling, which normally soothed her, but tonight, those comforting sounds brought no rest. Knowing that the children were happy and healthy should have put her at ease as well, but instead of sleeping, Theo found herself staring at the moonbeams coming in through her bedroom window. Even with her decision made, she had no respite. Visions of Eamon, and what she’d like to do with him, rushed through her head, making sleep impossible.

  Her body thrummed with need, a wanting so strong, tomorrow wouldn’t be soon enough. It had to be right now, when she was brave, when she wanted him so much she could barely breathe.

  She rose from her bed and slipped into her robe, tying the sash tightly. Moonlight guided her way as she stepped from her room and tread the stairs, avoiding the third riser from the bottom because it squeaked.

  A single candle within the protective glass of its holder on the table cast a steady glow throughout the kitchen. Theo quietly opened the back door and stepped out onto the porch. The dog, cats, and duck didn’t move from their beds, exhausted, she was certain, from a long day of following her and chasing the children.

  The golden glow of a lantern cast its light through the window of his room beside the barn. What was he doing? Sleeping? Reading?

  His door opened and more light spilled through as he stepped onto the small porch.

  Theo tucked herself into the shadows, suddenly unsure of her decision, and just . . . admired the sight before her. Though she wasn’t close enough to see details, she could see that he wore no shirt and his feet were bare, the rest of him covered in a pair of tight trousers. In the space of a breath, her heartbeat picked up and the tension within her tripled.

  He lit his pipe, then leaned against one of the posts, his head lifting to look at the night sky before lowering to look at the windows on the second floor of the house. Her window or so it seemed, but it was impossible to know for certain with the only light, besides moonlight, behind him.

  What is he thinking right now? What would he say if I just walked across the barnyard, threw myself into his arms, and begged him to make love to me? Would he say no?

  She took a step forward, then stopped as he tapped the ashes from his pipe into the glass dish sitting on the small table beside the door and went inside. If she was going to do this, she had to do it now, before she lost her nerve, before common sense made her stop. Determination spurring her on, she took another step. She wanted this, wanted his hands on her. Needed to feel his body filling her.

  Behind her, the back door swung open. Startled, Theo jumped, and spun around to see Charlotte stumble across the threshold, her long white nightdress ghostly in the pale glow of moonlight. The meager light reflected on the tears on her face, and her breath came in huffs and gasps, as it always did when she cried.

  “Charlotte, honey, what’s wrong?”

  The little girl walked toward her, wrapped her arms around her hips, and rested her head against Theo’s stomach. “I had a bad dream, Mama Theo.” Hiccup. “And then . . . and then I couldn’t find you.” Hiccup.

  In an instant, the plans she had been trying to set into motion disappeared as Charlotte hiccupped into her stomach. She patted the girl’s back. “It’s all right, rosebud. Do you want to tell me about your dream?”

  The girl shook her head and let out a long sigh as her arms tightened around Theo’s hips.

  “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Let’s get you back to bed.”

  Charlotte raised fearful eyes toward her. “Will you stay with me?”

  “Of course, sweetheart.” She brushed the bangs out of the girl’s eyes, marveling at the poor job she’d done of trimming them earlier tonight. Not only were they still too long, but they were crooked as well. She wondered if everyone else’s haircut was equally bad, the results of thinking about Eamon when she should have been paying attention to what she’d been doing.

  She led Charlotte inside and settled the girl back in her bed. She drew the light blanket up to her chin, then lay down beside her atop the covers as she only intended on staying just long enough for Charlotte to fall back to sleep.

  Within minutes, Charlotte’s breath whispered between her lips in a steady rhythm. Theo started to slip off the bed, but as soon as she moved, the girl whimpered and reached out for her. All thoughts of seducing Eamon fled at Charlotte’s touch. Without hesitation, she moved beneath the covers and held the little girl she loved so much.

  Chapter 9

  Aldrich’s slippers made a scuffing noise across the marble tiles of the foyer as he headed toward his study, a plate with the last slice of apple pie in one hand, a glass of milk in the other. His mouth was already watering. His cook made the best apple pie in the county, and he looked forward to having the last piece.

  The sound of the doorknob turning and the front door creaking open stopped him before he could gain his sanctuary. He turned to see AJ sneak into the house, shoes in hand, the smell of alcohol and cheap perfume suddenly overpowering in the hall. He took in his son’s appearance and frowned. His clothes were askew and a little dusty, as if he’d fallen in the street or perhaps had a tryst in a dark alley, and his hair, normally plastered to his head with pomade, stood straight up in spiky furrows. “Drunk again, AJ?”

  Startled, AJ dropped his shoes, but stood up straight and faced him. There appeared to be no remorse for his condition. Indeed, he seemed a little proud of his semi-inebriated state. “Not nearly as much as I should be.”

  Aldrich raised an eyebrow. He didn’t judge a man badly for having a drink or two, but he didn’t condone a man drinking to excess. At least AJ hadn’t slurred his words, which meant he wasn’t that drunk. “I gather the evening didn’t go as you planned. Wasn’t tonight the church dance? I thought you asked Theo Danforth to go with you.”

  AJ said nothing, but the expression on his face revealed everything, making Aldrich chuckle. “Ah, let me guess. You asked and she said no. In fact, I’d go so far as to say the little filly wants nothing to do with you.”

  “You don’t have to sound so . . . happy about it.” AJ stiffened and his lip stuck out, pouting like he’d done when he was a little boy and hadn’t gotten his own way.

  He shrugged, unconcerned about his son’s feelings. “Not happy, son, just glad to be proved right. Again. I knew wooing Theo would be a waste of your time.”

  The look AJ gave him would have put a lesser man in his grave. It only made Aldrich chuckle harder.

  AJ scowled, then bent down to retrieve his shoes. “If all you’re going to do is laugh at me and gloat, then I’ll just head up to bed.”

  “Now, don’t go off in a huff.” He gestured toward the study. “Come on in and share some pie with me. It�
��s the last piece.”

  “I’m not in the mood for pie, but I will have another drink.” He followed Aldrich into the comfortable room and headed straight for the bar. He dropped his shoes on the floor, poured himself a large portion of aged Kentucky bourbon, and then slumped into a chair and pinned his father with a glare. “And I don’t want to talk about her.”

  Aldrich waved away his concerns as he took his seat behind the desk, nearly spilling his milk. “I wasn’t going to ask about her. What I want to know is if you found out the name of her hired hand.”

  AJ sulked—mouth pulled down in either a scowl or a frown, Aldrich couldn’t tell which. “I don’t want to talk about him either.”

  He said nothing, but watched his son take another swallow of his bourbon. If he stayed quiet, if he didn’t ask or bombard AJ with questions, he just might find out what he wanted to know. Sometimes, patience could be a friend. The silence stretched as he dug his fork into the flaky crust and soft chunks of apple, then brought the sweet, gooey concoction to his mouth.

  “She’s not interested in me, but she’s sure as hell interested in him,” AJ admitted after a while, and Aldrich smothered a grin. His son was so predictable. “You shoulda seen the way she looked at him, like she was ready to peel off her clothes—and his—right there in the barnyard. And he was lookin’ at her the same way. It was disgusting.”

  “I see,” he said and took another bite of pie, waiting for AJ’s inevitable malign of both Theo and her hired hand. He wasn’t disappointed.

  “I bet she’s taken him to her bed.” He buried his fingers in his hair, leaving more furrows in the pomaded locks. He slumped farther into his chair, the soft leather almost cradling him. “I bet they’re in bed right now. If I had known Theo was a slut, I’d have gotten between her legs a long time ago. Instead, I wasted all that time trying to court her.”

  Aldrich smirked. He didn’t even try to hide it. “You should have known she was like that, AJ. What kind of woman takes a hired hand—what did you say his name was—to her bed?”

  “MacDermott.”

  “Did you say MacDermott?” He sat up, instantly alert, the name completely erasing the vision in his head of Theo naked and . . . writhing on the bed beneath him. He’d heard the name recently but who had mentioned it? Someone . . .

  AJ nodded as he swirled the bourbon around the bottom of the glass, then finished the last of it in one swallow, oblivious to how easily he’d been tricked into revealing what he knew.

  “Does he have a first name?”

  “Aiden. Arden. Something like that.” He sighed, then stuck his finger in the glass and wiped out the last of the bourbon before he stuck his finger in his mouth. He sat utterly still as he sucked the liquor off his finger, his eyes glazed and distant. “Eamon,” he said after taking his finger out of his mouth and wiping at the glass once more.

  “Eamon MacDermott,” Aldrich repeated as he laid the fork on the dish, the last bite of apple pie forgotten. He leaned back in his chair, steepled his hands over his robe-clad stomach, and stared at the ceiling. “Eamon MacDermott. Hell, I know that name, but who said it?” He repeated the words, then jumped from his seat, the leather chair rolling backward and crashing into the wall. “Logan,” he breathed as he recalled the outlaw bragging about all the men he’d killed. He wasn’t surprised his son hadn’t made the connection with the hired hand’s name. AJ hadn’t been with Logan when he spoke of it.

  He had to be sure though. Needed to know the facts. “Go wake up Ed Dancy.”

  AJ jumped from his chair as well, a startled, wary expression on his face before confusion registered. “Now? It’s after midnight.”

  “I’m well aware of the time, AJ. Just go wake him up and tell him to open up his newspaper office.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t question me, boy. Just do it.” He grabbed a half-smoked cigar from the brass tray and stuck it in his mouth, though he didn’t light it. “I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes. Now, go!”

  AJ didn’t run to do his bidding. Instead, he stood there, swaying a bit on his feet, befuddled.

  “Why are you still here?” Without waiting for an answer to his question, Aldrich came around to the front of the desk, grabbed AJ by the arms, and shook him. There was no time to get him sober. Truthfully, he didn’t need him sober. Just obedient. “I said to wake up Dancy.” He started walking toward the door, at first nearly dragging AJ but then propelling him through the study, across the marble tiles in the foyer, and out the front door before any further protest could be voiced. “Go. Now. Fifteen minutes and he better be waiting for me.”

  He slammed the door on his shoeless son, then turned and shouted for the butler. “Wilson!”

  Despite the fact the older man had gone to bed over an hour ago, a moment later, he tied the sash of his robe as he shuffled from his room just off the kitchen. “Yes, Mr. Pearce?”

  “Saddle my horse. I’m going out.”

  If the butler thought anything odd about the order and the lateness of the hour, he said nothing except, “Yes, sir,” and turned back the way he’d come.

  Feeling much younger than he had in years, Aldrich practically jogged up the stairs and got dressed.

  Twenty minutes later, he tugged on the reins and brought his horse to a stop in front of the Pearce Intelligencer’s office. Lights blazed through the plate glass window, creating a warm glow on the street as he dismounted and tied Jezebel’s reins to the post.

  “Coffee, Dancy,” he ordered when he let himself into the office and came face to face with the sleepy newspaperman standing next to AJ. “And keep it coming. We might be here awhile.”

  “Of course, Mr. Pearce.” The man tried to make himself presentable and tuck his shirt into his trousers, but gave up when the garment seemed to defy the laws of order. “May I ask what you’re looking for?”

  Aldrich didn’t answer the question but asked one of his own. “Does the name Eamon MacDermott mean anything to you?”

  Dancy scratched his head, causing his hair to stand up on end, like AJ’s, and did almost exactly as Aldrich had done earlier: kept repeating the name. “It’s familiar, I will say that. I seem to recall . . . wait!” He turned quickly and headed toward several file cabinets along one wall of the room, his shirttails flapping behind him. He pulled glasses from his shirt pocket, fitted the earpieces around his ears, and started reading the dates clearly labeled on the drawers of the cabinets. He mumbled beneath his breath, loud enough to be annoying but soft enough so the words were not recognizable, then he grinned as he tugged open a drawer and pulled out a thick sheaf of past issues of the Pearce Intelligencer. He handed the stack to Aldrich. “You can start with these. I’ll get that coffee.”

  Aldrich made himself comfortable in one of the room’s two leather chairs and wheeled himself closer to the desk. He handed several newspapers to AJ. “Here, you read these. There was a shooting a few years ago, and if I remember correctly, MacDermott was involved. I want to know everything.”

  AJ said nothing, but he pulled up the room’s other chair and began leafing through the stack.

  Several hours later, the coffee in his cup stone cold, Aldrich Pearce folded the newspaper in his hand and smiled. He looked around at the other newspapers scattered all over the floor, the drawers of the file cabinets in the back of the room standing open and empty. He’d read them all, finding pleasure and perversion in every account of the day the Logan Gang shot up Paradise Falls. He learned about the deaths of Kieran, Mary, and Matthew MacDermott, and Henry Danforth, who’d been visiting the town with Theo, as well as the many townsfolk caught in the crossfire. Mention was made of the near fatal injuries suffered by Brock and Eamon MacDermott, but not very much. For the most part, their recoveries had been ignored while the reporters paid rapt attention to the subsequent trial and sentencing of Jefferson Logan.

  Most importantly, he learned of three members of the Logan Gang who survived the shootout. One of those men—Zeb Logan—was no
w dead, killed by Brock MacDermott just a few months ago. Jefferson Logan, the young man the rest of the Logans had tried to break out of jail, which had precipitated the shootout, remained in prison, but the last brother, the one that interested him the most, Tell Logan, seemed to have disappeared, according to the newspaper articles . . .

  Except Aldrich knew exactly where he was. The man was the reason the Flying Cloud Ranch was now his. He had helped to convince the owner to sell it for a paltry sum. As a gun for hire, Logan had no qualms about using whatever means were necessary, no matter how low-down and questionable they were.

  The smile on his face widened as he glanced at Dancy and AJ, who both slept. He leaned over and shook his son. “Wake up, AJ.”

  The young man opened bloodshot eyes, then lifted his head from the desk, his cheek stained with ink.

  “I need you to ride out to the Flying Cloud Ranch and bring Tell Logan back with you.”

  At the mention of Logan’s name, Aldrich watched the blood drain from AJ’s face. Fear clouded his son’s eyes, and his mouth dropped open before he snapped it shut. “Logan,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe as well as horror.

  AJ’s reaction was exactly what he was looking for.

  • • •

  Hours later, the expression on AJ’s face still played over and over again in Aldrich’s mind. Excitement continued to speed through his body, making it difficult to sit still . . . so he didn’t even try. Instead, he paced the floor of his study, stopping at the window occasionally to peruse the drive outside and what lay beyond. Living on top of the hill had its advantages. He could see everything, and it made him feel like a king on his throne to look down from this height on the town that bore his name.

  People scurried here and there, busy with the daily chores of life. He caught sight of AJ climbing the back stairs to Mimi’s place for the second time today, this time to drown his sorrows with a bottle of rotgut whiskey and the comfort of one of Mimi’s girls. The boy—man actually, though Aldrich didn’t like to admit it—had done well in finding Tell Logan. He hadn’t been at Flying Cloud Ranch nor any of Aldrich’s other holdings, but AJ had finally tracked him down at Mimi’s. And Logan wasn’t happy being interrupted in the middle of the woman he was about to do, according to AJ who informed him that Logan would be with him whenever he damned well pleased.