Eden's Sin, page 4
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw and shook his head, looking down as if his dirty boots held the answer to a question. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. I’ll help you. And I want nothing in return. I give my word.”
The aching sincerity in his deep voice shivered over her skin. But she’d be a fool to let herself be deceived by pretty words and promises again. “I don't put much stock in a man's—”
The kitchen door swung open, and Alice stomped in. “Damnation, Eden, how much longer on them pork chops?” Alice’s eyes widened as she glanced at the two of them. “Everythin' all right in here?”
“Yes.” Eden waved her away. “I'll have the plates ready in a minute.” She sucked in a deep breath and backed farther away from the major.
“MmmHmm. Well, I need two bowls of stew and one order of apple pie too.”
“Fine, fine. I'm working on it. Just get the men their drinks.”
“MmmHmm.”
“Alice, go.” Eden squeezed past him to cut a large slice of pie. “Major, if you truly mean to help Mary Rose, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” For her ward’s sake, she’d put aside her anger. Right now, she needed him to leave. She needed to figure out why after twenty-four years of holding her emotions in tight check, she’d just hissed and spewed all over a man she barely knew.
He leaned casually against the table – obviously ignoring her hint to leave.
“So why didn't you just tell me everything this morning? Why come dressed like a farm wife?”
“Because I didn't trust you.” She turned and flipped the sizzling pork chops. “I've tried to get help, but, well, I’ve never found men to be helpful of a whore.” She pulled open the oven door. “In fact, I've never found men to be helpful at—Aarrgh!” Pain scorched her hand as a pan of cornbread smashed to the floor.
“Damn it to hell and back.” She wrapped her palm in her apron skirt. Sharp heat shot through her hand, her reward for allowing him become a distraction.
In two long strides he was at her side, his dark brows pulled into a frown, concern tightening his handsome face.
“Let me see it.” He reached for her hand.
“No. Just go away.” Tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them back. “I have work to do.” And she couldn’t stand if he was nice to her right now. She just couldn’t.
He sighed as if she was daft. “You can't work with your hand blistered.”
“I've worked in worse shape.” So much worse.
“What happened?” Alice busted through the door and scowled at Major Bradford. “I heard you scream. Did he hurt you?”
“No. Nothing. I touched the hot pan is all. I'll have those plates in five minutes.” Eden shooed Alice out, then whirled back toward the stove.
“No you won't.” The major strode to the sink and pumped water onto a towel. “Sit down. Let me tend to your hand.” He stepped toward her.
“I’m fine.” She couldn’t think with him so close. “You can go.”
“I could, I’m not going to. Now sit down.” His chin had a stubborn tilt.
Fine. He could be stubborn all he wanted. So could she. “I don't take orders. Not from you or any man.”
“Understood. But at least let me see the wound.” He held out his hand, his gaze commanding, then frowning as she refused to show him her hand. “Eden, please. Let me help you. You’re hurt.”
His words were gentle. Almost caring. But that couldn’t be. Men don’t care. But the way he said her name, the deep timbre of his voice, like a caress made her want to believe maybe…maybe…She glanced up into his eyes, and was caught, snared in what she saw.
“Easy.” He took one small step closer. “Just let me look. I want to help, Eden. Please. Let’s just pretend our skirmish didn’t happen. Pretend we’ve just met. How do you do, I’m Major Bradford.” He bowed. “Full time soldier, part time horse’s ass.”
A short giggle escaped her. She couldn’t stop it. His earnest apology unnerved her, but his wry remark made her feel…What? Relaxed? Safe? Was she really so pathetic?
No, she wasn’t.
Unfisting her fingers, she stuck out her hand. “See? Now that you’ve surveyed the wound, you can leave.”
“No.” He gently took her wrist and placed the cold rag against the large blister.
“Isssshhh. Damn the Devil that hurts.” She tried to jerk her hand free.
“I'm sorry.” He removed the towel and examined the burn. “You need some salve on this.”
He held her hand loosely, but the heat of his touch felt as hot as the blister. One long finger stroked her wrist, that single touch, the most intimate thing she'd shared with a man in so, so long, the stroke of temptation, the most perilous feeling she'd had since Alexander.
“Major Bradford—” She needed him to leave. She needed her heart to stop pounding like a silly schoolgirl’s. Why was he making her feel things? She’d thought herself immune to men after –
“Sinclair.” His voice rumbled over her.
“What?” She tried to ignore her pounding pulse. Had the room gotten hotter?
“My name is Sinclair.”
“All right. But I told you I have work to do. I'll doctor this later.” Please go. Just go.
He shook his head. “Salve?”
Eden sighed. He wasn't going to give up. Just as he'd told her this morning. “Above the pie safe.” Maybe if she let him doctor it, then he’d go.
He nodded and walked to the shelf. Pulling down the tin, he took off the lid and dipped his fingers inside.
“Give me your hand.”
She studied his face. The same sense of stubborn integrity was still there, in his eyes, the set of his jaw. Integrity mixed with good looks enough to tempt a saint. Dear God, he was sinfully dangerous.
Temptation blocked her good sense in the past. She couldn't let it happen again. Besides, things that seemed too good be true most likely were. Especially concerning a man.
“Why are you being nice? I thought you were angry at me.” And angry men were deadly.
His brow lifted. “Being angry doesn't negate doing what's right.” Smearing a big dollop of slave onto the blister, he made a loose wrap of the damp towel. “I was sent here to do a job. Since I've found out about Mary Rose, part of that job is finding who assaulted her.” He bit his lip as he concentrated on tying the ends of the towel together. “We may have started off on the wrong foot, but I will help you. Now sit down.”
He was too damned bossy. “Major—”
“I know. There's work to do.” He gently pushed her into a chair then turned, peeled off his coat and hat, then stabbed the pork chops from the pan. “What else goes with these?”
“Pardon?” Did he really mean to prepare the orders? To help in the kitchen?
“What. Else. Goes. On. The. Plates?” He stressed each word as if she were deaf.
“Umm,” The sight of him standing there, an orderly cavalry major, hair mussed, steaming plate in hand, tied her tongue. “Um, the turnip greens and mashed potatoes. Then two biscuits.”
He placed everything she listed and reached for bowls. “And Alice said two bowls of stew and one apple pie, correct?”
Eden nodded.
He ladled the soup and cut the pie, setting everything on a large serving tray, then hollered for Alice.
The woman pushed open the door and frowned. “So now you're cookin? What you be wantin?”
“Alice,” Eden scolded, “take out the food while it's hot.”
“Fine. But mark my word, he wants something from you. MmmHmm. Want I should get the pistol?”
Eden heaved a long sigh. “No. That won't be necessary. The major is going to find the man who attacked Mary Rose.”
“MmmHmm. Well, then…I reckon he can stay. Besides, I need a steak, rare, one plate of biscuits and gravy, and another bowl of potato soup. And I need them in a hurry, soldier.” She took the tray and scuttled out the door.
Sinclair gave a crooked grin. “She’s full of piss and vinegar, but at least you know where you stand.”
“Yes…” What kind of man was this? He wasn't angry at the way Alice talked to him?
He confused her, and she didn’t like that. Not one bit. She stood intending to step aside, to the other side of the kitchen. Or outside. Being close to him was dangerous.
He pressed Eden back into the chair. “Sit. You look pale.”
“I'm fine.” Just baffled. Men just weren't nice for no reason. Some perhaps. Cormac had been a good friend to her, asking nothing in return. But Cormac was a poor Irishman. The major, while not rich, had rank, manners. Surely he wanted something.
“Well, I'll help you finish up here, then I need to talk to Mary Rose. The more time that passes the harder it will be for me to find the guilty man.” He took a steak from a large cold-crock and dropped it into a pan of grease.
“Once supper is over, we'll go in and see her.”
He nodded, grabbed a plate, two biscuits and started ladling gravy. “And, Eden, just so you know,” he glanced over his shoulder, “I do understand why you didn’t think you could tell me you’re a madam, but I would have agreed to help you even if you came to me this morning in your corset and drawers, carrying a bottle of whiskey. Right is right and wrong is wrong. No matter rich or poor, everyone has basic rights.” He turned, his gaze catching hers, holding on, searching. “Everyone.”
A flush heated her face. Shock, embarrassment, hope, all surged through her at once. Where was he when she lived in St. Louis? When her life was ruined, when she was almost killed? Maybe, if she'd known Major Sinclair Bradford then neither Alexander nor his father would have gone unpunished. Maybe if she told him she was being blackmailed…
No. If she told him her involvement in the robberies, she would go to prison. Sophia would be expelled from the school, put on the streets. Become a whore.
He continued in a low, calm voice. “I just want you to know where we stand. I will always respect someone who’s honest—no matter how ugly it might be, I always want the truth.” Pain clouded his gaze, then he blinked it away, lifted his mouth in a smile too forced to be real as he went back to cooking.
She managed to swallow though her mouth had gone dirt-dry. Guilt did that to her. “I too prefer to know where I stand in any given situation.”
He nodded, the sadness never leaving his face though it reached out and twisted her heart.
Eden stood, putting space between her and the major. Between her and the damned compassion his sadness had stirred inside her. She didn't want to feel anything for this man. Not compassion for whatever hurt he'd suffered, not admiration for his willingness to admit when he was at fault, and certainly not happiness that he could respect her despite her lurid past – and respect was there in his gaze, not judgment, not like how some people looked at her.
Not that she cared what anyone thought of her. It just didn’t matter anymore, didn’t hurt anymore…not much anyway.
All that mattered was getting free from the senator, then making enough money to buy Sophia an education and a respectable life, any kind of life, just so long as she didn't take up whoring. Too many Gabrielli women seemed to accept that vocation. Her sister would not be the third to take this horrible route.
“Would you like some coffee, Major?” She needed to stay busy. All this thinking and considering, all this feeling, would lead to nothing but trouble.
He sucked in a long, deep breath and smiled. This time the smile reached his eyes.
“All right. But I thought you were going to call me Sinclair.”
“I don't think that was decided, merely requested.” Did she sound in control? Or could he hear the stupid breathless way her voice lilted? Damn it. She didn't want to get comfortable with him, no matter how sincere he seemed. No matter how his gaze flickered with interest each time he looked at her.
“If I say please, call me Sinclair, will that help?”
“How about if you just tell me how you like your coffee?”
He chuckled. “With lots of sugar.” He pulled the meat from the pan and plated it with vegetables and bread.
“Sweet tooth?” She barely resisted the urge to tease him even more. This felt too nice, too comfortable. Too dangerous. She hadn’t danced with danger in a long, long time. Too long apparently and her body knew it.
“Little bit.” He grinned, a dimple creasing his left cheek. “Thank you,” he added as she passed him the cup.
“You’re welcome.” She backed away, away from his manners and heat and that damned dimple she wanted to trace with her tongue.
No, no, no. She couldn’t let this man make her forget how cruel men were.
Alice stuck her head around the door. “I need two more steaks. Both still mooing.”
Eden nodded. “All right. Here. Take the pie and plate. I'll bring out the soup.”
She moved to the stove, her skirt brushing the major’s tall boots as she reached for a bowl and the ladle. “Ow!” The tin of the handle pressed into her new burn.
He frowned. “Are you just determined to hurt yourself again… or just determined to do the opposite of what I asked you to do?”
“The latter.” She stepped around him to serve the soup. She could make it through this evening with him in her kitchen. She could. She would.
“With that attitude, you'd be drummed out of the army if you were one of my men.”
“Well, I'm not a man so you'll just have to disregard me.”
“Believe me, I would if I could.” His words were nothing but a gritted whisper, but she heard them all the same.
Heard them, ignored them.
But ignoring the little shot of pleasure his words caused was impossible.
***
After she returned from the dining room, Sinclair turned to her. From the serious, unsure look on his face, she wasn't going to like what he had to say. Maybe that was for the best. She could handle being angry with him much better than liking him.
“Eden, I need to ask you something.”
“All right.”
“You and the working girls probably hear a lot of talk. More than most men realize. Maybe some plans being made?”
“I suppose.” Lord, had he heard the tremor in her voice? Did she look guilty? She felt guilty. Every muscle in her body was drawn as tight as a corset string.
“Have you heard anyone mention the robberies or the accidents? Anything suspicious?”
“Every time there's a robbery the men talk and talk and worry and drink.” But she always fled to the kitchen when that happened. The pain of knowing she was hurting those men by spying too much to bear.
“No, I mean – “
“You mean have any of us overheard nefarious plans?”
“Yes.” He nodded.
“Major, if you want to know about the railroad’s plans, you should ask Parsons or Stevens—or even Kate Parsons. I assure you men hardly sit at my bar and proclaim their next robbery schedule.” She forced a laugh.
“Fair enough.” He gave a half-grin. “I suppose what I'm trying to ask is, if any men have talked while…conducting business upstairs.”
“Ahhh. Well, I haven’t heard anything.” She wasn’t going to tell him she didn't conduct business upstairs anymore. If she did he'd have more questions, questions she couldn’t— wouldn’t—answer. No one but Alice knew what Alexander had done.
“If you do, I’d appreciate knowing. The Katy can't survive the set-backs that have been going on.”
Her muscles tightened, twisted. “You expect me to ask my girls to help you help Parsons? After the way he and Stevens treat us—like shit on their expensive shoes?” It was like asking her to help the Devil.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I do understand your hesitation to help Parsons' railroad, but surely you care about the men whose jobs—even their lives—are at stake. Robberies aside, the accidents have been very dangerous. Someone could be killed.”
Like me. She’d been on the platform that day in New Chicago when Helga tried to blow up the tracks.
Eden moved to the sink and started pumping water to heat for dishes, more to hide her face from his intense study than to keep busy. It wasn't fair he would try to use her sympathies against her.
“I don't know what makes you think I care about anyone in this town.” The words felt brittle, choked. Could he tell?
His soft chuckle filled the kitchen. “This from the woman who begged me to help a young girl, a woman who paid for that girl to have schooling, a better life…”
Eden gasped. Damn Cormac and his big Irish mouth.
“That's different.”
“I thought we were going to be truthful. So tell me, if your friend McGrady is killed next week in one of those accidents, you won't feel any remorse? You won't feel bad for his widow?”
She slammed down the bucket. “Now see here, I don't appreciate you trying to guilt me. Do you really think me so gullible?”
“No.” He took the still bloody steaks from the grease and placed them on plates with potatoes and greens. “I just need help with information. And honestly, you or your girls could hear something that could be useful.”
“Fine. I'll tell them to let me know if they hear something. But I'm not doing it for Parsons.” Not for this tall man standing too close, taking up too much space in her kitchen either. Only for Cormac and the McGrady Gang. Those men deserved to work in what little safety there was in handling dynamite and digging trenches. And somehow she’d have to share that information without laying any trails to her own involvement.
“Fair enough.” He carried the plates to the swinging door. “I’ll take what I can get.”
That’s what she was afraid of.
***
They worked the next hour feeding the men, Sinclair cooking, and, after heated discussion, Eden cut the pies and ladled the soups. The time passed easily. Talking with the major felt like the most natural thing in the world, as if he was an old friend, like Cormac.
Except she was achingly attracted to this friend. He made her smile – even though she'd bit her lip several times attempting to dissuade his teasing. The very fact that she wavered back and forth between throwing him out the door or inviting him into her bed made her dizzy with worry.
