White Water Passion Read online

  There was a hint of sadness in the man’s words—or was it cold-hearted malice? Who were these men?

  Beth’s breath grew shallow. Whoever they were, they planned to destroy the mill without a care to anyone else involved. What would Simon do for work? What would the families who lived in Bonner do once the mill closed and their livelihood was torn from them? Dear Lord, she had to do something.

  “Well, is it?” Carrie’s voice penetrated Beth’s thoughts, but the question was lost on her.

  Is it what? Blast. What was the best response when faced with a question you didn’t hear? “Yes.”

  “So the man from the platform is the man you danced with from the Mayfield’s ball?”

  Oh good Lord. Beth waved her had across her face. “No, no, no. I overheard two men plotting on the train platform the other day. After they finished their vile conversation, the man with the cane hobbled around the corner with a smug smile. As if he hadn’t been plotting Great Mountain’s downfall. A place my brother loves dearly. Not that he knew Simon works there, but that’s beside the point. Someone wants to destroy the Big Mountain Lumber Mill. Imagine what would happen to all of the families if the mill were shut down. The babies would starve. The fathers would have to leave their homes and families behind to find new work, and who’s to say they will? There’s an evil plot afoot, and I’m the only one who can identify the culprit.”

  “Oh my God!” Carrie’s eyes flashed in concern. “You need to tell Simon.”

  Beth nodded. “I will. Eventually. After I’ve found the man in question, I’ll let Simon know. As I said before, I don’t want to risk his life, or job, if I’m wrong. I’ll go up and identify the culprit, and then tell him once I’m certain. My brother has done so much for me since our parents’ deaths. I need to do something for him in return. If I tell him now he’ll only leave me behind, and they may never find the saboteur.”

  Carrie slouched in a show of defeat. “Promise me you’ll take care to not get into trouble. If you see the man from the platform, tell Simon. Don’t go getting yourself killed.”

  “Of course. I’m not a fool. I have no intention of getting myself into trouble.”

  “But how will you pass as a man? With your curves and long hair, you’re the perfect example of a woman.” Carrie waved toward Beth’s hair, piled high on top of her head in the latest fashion.

  With a secretive smile, Beth reached into the satchel and searched through the clothing within to pull out her mother’s old silver-handled scissors. She reached up to her perfect coif, a style she often worked hours on perfecting. How would she feel without the familiar weight of her hair?

  Carrie eyed the sharp tool. “Please tell me you brought those to cut paper.”

  “Not paper.” Beth forced a smile. If she was going to do this, she would do it right. Although set in her decision, she reached up to touch the silky tendrils she’d grown to love. Her best feature. She forced back the tears burning behind her eyes. The sacrifice of her hair was worth saving her brother and his job. She firmed her lips, and held the scissors out to Carrie.

  “What will your nana say?” Carrie asked.

  “She has taken to her bed as of late, and only leaves to visit her matron friends for tea on Tuesdays. Her maid is there with her every second of the day, so I’m of little help. I asked her if I could accompany you to visit your sister for the spring, and she agreed. I’ll come home after the drive, and she’ll be none the wiser. My hair will grow again, and I’ll either pin it back, or I’ll say your little niece Tawny cut my hair while I slept because she wanted it for her doll. Your niece is quite the troublemaker. Nana will have no trouble believing me.”

  “Tawny’s done worse, I suppose.” Carrie pinched her lips shut and stared with a calculating, but disapproving, look. Beth smiled as Carrie plucked the scissors from her hand with a sigh. She could always count on her dear friend to cave when logic and passion were at the heart of her arguments.

  Two hours later, Beth sauntered down the stairs and out the door like she’d seen her brother do on many occasions. She enjoyed the feel of the trousers tight against her legs. The harsh scratch of the blue denim a vast difference from the soft cotton of her dresses—not to mention a distinct lack of a bustle strapped to her backside. The sensation of nothing but the rough work pants lent a sort of wicked freedom she could get accustomed to. The satchel swung as she walked, and she ignored the odd looks from the women passing by on their way to the shops—a few of which she recognized from the Missoula Women’s Society tea three weeks past. Did they recognize her? Even if they did, she didn’t care. In a few days she would be on her way to Bonner to work for the Big Mountain Lumber Mill.

  Beth rushed home and snuck up the stairs leading to her room. After she made certain no one was around, she eased the door shut.

  She tossed the satchel on the bed, stared into her long dressing mirror, and ruffled her short, spiky hair. Turning to her armoire, she took out an old petticoat and plopped down on the side of her bed to tear the strips of cloth that would bind her breasts. What would the gossiping ninnies of the town think of her now? Scandal followed Beth’s family like a hungry dog. Not that she personally deserved the stigma, but with her parents’ deaths, and Simon’s debauchery whenever he was home, the town gossips painted all the Sanders in the same tainted light. An escapade like this wouldn’t come as a surprise.

  A knock sounded, and she scrambled to stuff the cloth under her pillow and yank on the hat from atop her dressing table. She pulled the brim over her ears. “Come in.”

  The door slid open, and her brother Simon peeked in.

  “Hey, Lizbe. It’s all set through the big bugs at the mill. I thought maybe we could go out and practice tonight. My secret’s safe, right? You aren’t going to tell the mayor?”

  With a sigh of relief, Beth pulled her hat from her head. “It’s safe for now. Practice what? And you know I hate that nickname. It makes me sound like I’m twelve.”

  Simon grimaced as his gaze skimmed her head. “Practice being a man. Meet me by the front door after Nana goes to bed.” He studied her a moment longer, and then frowned. “Did you steal those trousers from the twelve-year-old neighbor? You look like a blacksmith’s errand boy.”

  Beth stuck out her tongue as Simon twisted on his heels. She could hear the angry click of his boots as he disappeared down the hallway. She had no idea what he’d planned, but she wasn’t about to let his reluctance or insults get in the way. Simon had no clue about the saboteur and catastrophe in the making. Eventually he’d appreciate what she’d sacrificed, after she saved his job, the lumber camp, and the entire town.

  Chapter 2

  The eerie shadows of Nana’s front passageway screamed into the silence of the night. The silvery moonlight illuminated the small windows near the door and gave Beth enough light to know her brother was not where he said he’d be. She hated tardiness. Which unfortunately exemplified the very essence of her carefree brother. Deliberately late to everything, and commanding the attention of whatever room he entered.

  It wasn’t until ten minutes past nine that Simon sauntered down the stairs as if he had not a care in the world.

  “Nana went to bed at eight-thirty.”

  “First off, little sister, men never act like spoiled young women. They aren’t young ladies of the first water.” Simon gestured to Beth’s hands, faintly illuminated by the small sliver of light. “Behavior like that is not manly. If you want people to believe you, you’ve got to forget all your feminine habits. Or we can simply go upstairs and forget you ever blackmailed me.”

  Beth dropped her arms and glared at her brother. “If you would do things on time, I wouldn’t be forced to act this way.”

  “Is that my new vest?” He reached out and plucked a kerchief from the inside pocket. “You may want to avoid any hankies you find.”

  “Uck!” She adjusted the oversiz
ed shirt beneath the vest, and smoothed the material where the inner pocket sat. She didn’t even want to think of what had been on that cloth.

  Simon brushed past her and opened the door. “Perhaps you should stay home. In bed. Like the decent young woman Nana raised you to be.”

  “Stop beatin’ the devil around the stump,” she said in a masculine drawl. “I am going, and you will take me or I’ll spill all that I know.”

  “Your attempt at manly repartee is worse than your new wardrobe. I’m taking you out tonight as a good-faith gesture, and nothing more. If the mayor found out about my affair, there’s no telling what he’d do to me. Why can’t you be more like Carrie? More amiable and less trouble?”

  “You’re one to talk. Half the women at Carrie’s tea a week ago spent the entire afternoon avoiding eye contact with me. I can only assume it’s because of one of your exploits. You’re lucky I don’t care what they think.” She followed him outside and stood on the stoop. Although the clothes gave her the cover she needed, they now failed to provide comfort enough to boost her confidence. What if someone recognized her? Her heart beat faster the more she thought about what was to come. Could she pull off the ruse? She’d never so much as spit on the sidewalk, let alone tromped around in britches.

  “You look much more believable in my clothes. Less like a little boy. Not that I’m encouraging this escapade in the slightest, but for us both not to be caught, I need to call you by a man’s name.”

  “Brent,” she declared. “I already thought it out.” With a turn of the tarnished skeleton key she’d swiped from Nana’s armoire drawer, the lock on the front snapped into place with only a whisper of sound. Simon had already taken the stairs and was halfway down the walk by the time she’d turned around. Fort Missoula’s Fifth Infantry Regiment marched on the battlefield like boys over a schoolyard compared to the way she charged after her brother. The United States Army held nothing compared to a woman on a mission.

  “Where are we going?” she hissed when she caught up to him.

  “The Angry Grizzly Saloon, where we will test your manly skills.”

  To say Simon sauntered through the streets would be akin to calling a hard-case man a donkey instead of an ass. An arrogant strut was a more appropriate term to describe the way her brother traversed the roads. There was no way she could strut like him, but she’d try if it meant perfecting the ruse.

  She practiced Simon’s walk, which did nothing more than throw him into a fit of laughter whenever she tripped over the rutted street. Blasted man! He had something up his sleeve. The sudden compliance and the ease of his rigid shoulders after they left Nana’s house proved it. She’d seen him act this way on many occasions, and it almost always ended with him getting his way. He had formed a plan, but she suspected the result wouldn’t be in her favor. She couldn’t let him win. Not this time.

  “Men really should learn to pick up their feet.” Beth followed Simon through the glass doors of the Angry Grizzly. She adjusted the restrictive chest bandage. What am I doing? No one is going to believe I’m a man.

  Along the front wall, the wooden slab of the bar sat proud—the focus of at least half the patrons, most of whom already appeared to be pissed off their rockers. Card games and drinking tables dotted the room with chairs arranged haphazardly around each one. Following Simon’s nod toward a seat in the corner, Beth settled into her chair as he made his way to the bar.

  A tall, dark-haired man walked up from behind and leaned on the bar next to Simon. Beth couldn’t quite see the man’s face, but her heart beat hard at the familiar form. She would know his wide shoulders and confident stance anywhere.

  Garrett.

  Simon glanced to his right, smiled, and shook his friend’s hand. Garrett motioned for the bar boy and called out, “Two straight Jacks.”

  Garrett sent a piercing stare her way. She slid down in her chair to pull her head into the collar of her jacket like a turtle in a shell. While he’d appeared dapper this morning in his stiff jacket and crisp shirt, tonight he looked like he belonged in the woods. Downright handsome. The same as he did when she’d admired him at the end of each season. Please God don’t let him come over here. The puffy part of her lip pinched between her teeth. Would he recognize her in britches?

  She willed herself to disappear while she strained to listen as her brother and Garrett talked. Alas, all she could hear was the increasingly rowdy drunk at the card table, and the gentle tinker of the off-key piano. The bartender set two beers and three shots in front of Simon, and he and Garrett downed two. Simon picked up the beer and remaining shot, and motioned toward Beth.

  She tried to shrink even lower.

  Garrett turned to cast a cold stare in her direction. High cheekbones set firm above his rigid jaw gave him the look of a man too refined for Montana, but the stubble on his chin and sideburns on his face proved he fit into humble society well. He looked exquisite in anything he wore.

  She couldn’t help but burrow deeper into the chair while her heart beat like an ax against a tree trunk. What am I going to do if he recognizes me? She chewed her lower lip again, but stopped when she realized her mistake.

  His gaze lingered longer than any man’s ever had before, and her stomach churned. Did he recognize her? Part of her wanted him to, but the other part begged the Lord above to keep her safe in her disguise.

  After a brief conversation with his friend, her brother returned and set a mug of beer in front of her.

  With one last glance in her direction, Garrett slid the bartender a handful of money and disappeared into a curtained room with a half-dressed woman. His tall, and quite large, figure disappeared and a strange sensation shot straight to her stomach. Almost as if she swallowed the whole bottle of the whiskey her grandmother kept hidden under her mattress for those rare nights when she couldn’t sleep. Her heart sank into that pretend pool of whiskey in her gut and began to break down. In all of her wickedest dreams, never had Garrett taken a lady of the night into his arms. He was supposed to be above such immoral behavior.

  But the unease she felt in her stomach had nothing to do with spirits, and everything to do with the man who at one point in time had stolen a glance and polite greeting on a rainy, dreary day, but not so much as a word did he speak to her since. Until he’d whispered her name that morning. Or had he? His eyes locked with hers every time the end of season train would come, but he would hurry away as soon as she would turn her eyes down in the customary coy manner.

  She felt slighted. How could this harlot on his arm catch his eye while he refused to even give a polite greeting to her? Not that she wished to be a lady of the night, but one real word to her was all she wished for. Was it too much to ask?

  Beth slouched in her seat. Forget about him, Elizabeth Sanders. What you need to concentrate on is the saboteur.

  Simon set down the shot in front of her and quirked half his mouth up in a sly smile. “Drink up. I paid the barkeep enough money to keep us well supplied tonight.”

  She took a small sip of the shot, and tried desperately not to lose her supper all over the table. The liquid burned down her throat, and she coughed. Did men really drink this stuff?

  The smug smile stretched even farther across her brother’s face, and he took a long drag of his foamy amber drink, and then lowered the glass. “That was Garrett. Do you remember him? He’s a timber beast too. Actually, he’s a riverman. There are only a few men in camp crazy enough to go down the river; those of us who are sane are timber beasts.”

  “Do you two stay in touch when you’re in town?” Beth tested the beer. Foam tickled her nose, but the bitter, foul-smelling drink didn’t make her want to vomit.

  Simon nodded while taking another large swig until half the contents of the glass were drained. Did he plan on drinking his troubles away? Good God.

  “What else can you tell me about Garrett?” She peeked over the rim of her
glass and drank.

  Simon waved off her question. “You’ll find out for yourself tomorrow. Tonight we’re going to work on turning you into a man.”

  She squinted at her brother, and then spent the next couple of hours sitting in the hard chair, pouring an oncoming slew of shots into a nearby spittoon whenever the bartender walked away and her brother got distracted. All the while trying not to stare at the curtained door where Garrett had left. While she was happy he failed to realize her true identity, somehow the room now felt empty. Tucked into the corner, and secluded from the rest of the bar, her brother began to outline the details of how to be a man. The hours grew long, and she couldn’t help but fidget as the evening ticked by with nothing but a few drunken cowhands and one rowdy game of Texas Hold ’em at the green poker table in the corner.

  Late that night, Simon motioned to the door, and Beth sighed with relief. If she had to take any more of his meaningless prattling, she’d jump across the table and throttle him just for something to do.

  She and Simon had always been close. After their parents had died in a carriage accident, they’d been left alone with their aging grandmother. They had learned to take care of each other. That was until he went and joined the logging company. No matter how hard he fought to make her stay, she wasn’t going to sit back and let his life be ruined by the loss of the only thing that truly made him happy: the lumber camp.

  * * * *

  The moonlight filtered through the clouds and illuminated the streets outside the saloon as Beth and Simon started down the dusty road. They had only gone a block before echoing laughter reached Beth’s ears. Simon clutched her arm to stop her and motioned to a couple stumbling down the street in front of them.

  “Garrett,” her brother said when they drew near.

  Beth tensed.

  Garrett stood tall and perused her figure with disdain. Why? Just this morning he’d sported a silent yet almost welcome aura. Now, she saw nothing but contempt. Of course, she was dressed as a man. Perhaps her disguise worked better than she’d planned. Beth’s defenses slammed into place. The overly friendly harlot sidled closer to him, and he visibly relaxed. The tramp. Perhaps she was the reason his mood changed so drastically from earlier in the day.