Mercury's Rise (Silver Rush 04) Read Free Page B

block the sight of him, but not the sound of his voice, the soft Southern accent blurring his words, smoothing them out until they were like silk wrapped around her throat.
    The sun began to cast its light within. She opened her eyes and took a hard look, still not quite believing that her errant husband, who had been gone for so long, was standing there before her. Not a ghost, but real. A few things in his appearance registered as different from before. New lines creased his face, and he was lean in a way that spoke of illness, past or present. A scar extended from the corner of the left eye and disappeared beneath his light brown hair. He leaned upon a walking cane.
    He smoothed his sandy mustache, which, she noticed with an odd detachment, was still the same. “I must ask—William?”
    “He’s well.”
    His shoulders loosened as he sighed, a sound of relief. “You’re both alive and safe. My prayers are answered then. When I first realized that you were still here in Leadville, I thought that William was…” He shook his head. “But then, when I got to town and saw the house gone, I imagined the worst. So I came here to wait. Waiting, for what, I didn’t know. So, where is he, our boy?”
    The concern and relief in his voice sounded real. Or was it all for show? Even in the old days, even after ten years of marriage, sometimes she wasn’t sure. Her love and jealousy had so often blinded her to where the truth lay.
    She slipped a hand in her coat pocket. “You need to leave.”
    The cane was suddenly against her wrist. He took one limping step closer. “You still in the habit of carrying that little Smoot pocket revolver, darlin’?” The cane pressed lightly, testing her.
    “The Smoot,” she said coldly, “went up with the house.”
    With the cane resting against her arm, she slowly extracted a ring of keys. The cane slid away as she held one up before him at eye level.
    “This is the key to the dressing room behind the office.” She saw him glance up toward the second floor. She continued, “ My room. I’m the only one with the key. We—Abe and I—changed the locks to the office and dressing room some time ago.”
    She stared past the key, straight into his eyes, willing him to recognize the depth of her seriousness. “Speaking of the Smoot and such, do you remember what you impressed upon me, early on, in our marriage? Shoot first, ask questions later. If you gain entrance to my room through any means whatsoever—pick the lock or copy the key—I will shoot you with your old Navy revolver, which I just happen to have up there. I’ll shoot first, deal with the questions later. Actually, I doubt there will be questions. I will simply claim I didn’t know it was you, that I thought you were an assailant, breaking in.”
    She pressed her lips together and stared, daring him to call her bluff, hoping he wouldn’t.
    To her surprise, he nodded, and took a step back. “We need to talk, darlin’. Not now, but soon. I know you’ve got questions.”
    “No questions.” She started toward the stairs and the office. “I’m tired. Leave.”
    “Just tell me,” he said, “and I’ll go for now. Is my son up there?”
    My son.
    One foot on the stairs, she turned. Her hand gripped the handrail so hard she felt her knuckles shift. Finally she said, “William is back East with my sister. He’s safe. He’s well.”
    With that, she continued up the stairs without another look back.
    Once in her room, she waited by the window. A few agonizing minutes ticked by. Finally, she saw his lean figure appear on the boardwalk below and, with that unfamiliar limp, cross the street to the Clairmont Hotel.
    Inez paced from one end of the modest room to the other, trying to calm herself. She thought of all the plans she had put into motion, with the expectation that her husband was dead or, at least, not returning. Her plans to obtain an uncontested divorce from an absentee husband. Her ever-closer liaison with the