The Wildflowers at the Edge of the World Read online

  Sophia threw the door open and stepped out. Madam Irene stood on the landing atop the stairs, color burning high on her cheeks. Riley, the saloon’s scruffy terrier, sat at her feet.

  “I’m trying to help you.” Irene’s body seemed to tighten, her skin stretched taut over some unnamed, boiling emotion.

  Sophia squinted.

  Her breath sped; the hallway seemed to stretch like a telescope. On the topmost stair, the stranger—the very same one she’d just been thinking of—leaned on his lion’s-head cane. He gazed at Irene with tranquil indifference.

  “Help me? How?” He chuckled. “By impeding my business? I have no need of your assistance.”

  “Your business?” Madam’s tone soared skyward. “You mean your lies?”

  “A laughable accusation, coming from you. You haven’t the faintest notion of what my business encompasses, I assure you.” The man’s eyes flickered in Sophia’s direction.

  For her, a silent thunderclap accompanied his glance, though his serene expression betrayed no surprise. “There you are.” He said it as though she’d stepped away from him for only a moment, not as though a month had passed.

  Irene’s voice sharpened. “Leave her alone.”

  Pulled forward by a deepening confusion, Sophia approached the landing. She’d never seen Irene upset and couldn’t understand what her would-be rescuer was doing here. Why were he and Irene at each other’s throats? “Madam?”

  “It’s nothing, sweetheart. The Reverend Gray was just leaving.”

  Sophia frowned. The Reverend?

  “Leaving?” he said. “No, not until you’ve surrendered what’s rightfully mine.”

  Irene snorted. “Unless you agree to stop what you’re doing, you’ll get nothing.”

  He sighed. “Need I remind you we both possess the means to destroy the other?”

  Sophia’s mind reeled. There stood her stranger, looking just as angelic as he had in the street. His smooth cheeks glowed with vitality while his fair hair shone like a halo. But this time, he wore a different mask. Instead of cool distance, his expression shouted of trustworthiness and honesty, even as his words conveyed an unmistakable threat.

  “Who are you?” she blurted.

  Unruffled, he smoothed the lapel of his tailored morning coat. “I believe Madam Blumen has already introduced me.”

  The Reverend Gray. But that couldn’t be right.

  Sophia shook her head. “What would a reverend be doing in a br…dancehall?”

  He chuckled. “You needn’t be coy. I’m well aware of what transpires here.”

  “The good Reverend,” Irene said, undercutting the term with heavy sarcasm, “wants something I have. But you don’t need to worry yourself, Sophia. Best get back to business.”

  Despite the unmistakable dismissal, Sophia lingered. Something flickered deep within—an urge to understand what lay beneath this man’s exterior. Was he the gentleman who’d taken pity on a stray kitten? Or did a devil lurk behind that virtuous smile? Had she been right to leave him on the street that day?

  Given Madam’s glare, Sophia suspected she had. The knowledge soothed her.

  The Reverend turned her way. “I’d love to save you from Madam’s clutches.”

  “Save me?” Edging backward, Sophia gave a hollow laugh. Here he was, trying to tempt her again.

  “This woman will corrupt you,” he continued. “But you needn’t let her. You’ve only to come with me.”

  She looked from him to Madam and back again. The Reverend waited, his expression calm as glass. In contrast, Irene was a thundercloud, shadowy and furious.

  Sophia’s answer came easily. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Very well.” He turned away. “Perhaps we might revisit this conversation later, then, Madam?”

  Irene exhaled, long and slow. “Yes. Let’s talk. That’s as good a first step as any.”

  The Reverend extended a hand. When Irene placed her palm atop his, he bent to kiss her skin. “In the interim, may I depend on your silence?”

  “I’ll give you two days, no more.”

  At Madam’s feet, Riley pulled his lips back in a silent snarl. Ignoring the dog’s threats, the Reverend turned and went. His cane sounded against the steps, each tap reinforcing Sophia’s certainty of his villainy.

  When his footsteps faded completely, Madam Irene issued a long, curious look. “A word, sweetheart?”

  ***

  In the spacious boudoir, Irene sat behind her desk with Riley curled in her lap. “It’d be best,” she said, “if you didn’t mention this to Temperance or Annie. I don’t want them to worry.”

  Sophia frowned. “Is there something to worry about?”

  Irene’s verdant gaze slid away. “The Reverend and I aren’t on the best of terms, and he’s more influential in this town than I like to admit. If he has the Scarlet Blossom in his crosshairs…”

  The rest went unsaid, but the unformed words echoed, hanging in the air like smoke.

  If he decides to, he could destroy this place.

  Resentment pulled at Sophia. She’d just crossed half a world to find a place where she could grow rich in peace. And despite her initial misgivings, Caribou Crossing offered a respite from the life she’d left behind. Here, she didn’t have to offer up her heart for people to be reckless with. She didn’t have to care.

  Which, ironically, meant she now cared deeply about protecting her new life.

  “He threatened you,” she said, her hands flexing around the imaginary weight of her revolvers. Her Colts crooned to her, as they had ever since she’d fended off the Scotsman in that pivotal moment when she’d started making decisions for herself.

  She yearned to taste that power again.

  “Did he? Maybe I deserved it.” Irene stared at nothing. “I’ll be honest, Sophia. I’d do anything to change the Reverend’s ways. There’s good in him somewhere. I just need to find it, before he forces my hand.”

  “He’s a reverend. I’m sure he thinks ridding the world of a brothel is doing it a favor.”

  “Oh, sweetheart.” Irene’s pale fingers sifted through Riley’s wiry blond hair. “He’s no reverend. He’s a confidence man.”

  Blinking, Sophia realized with sudden clarity why the Reverend Gray’s title had struck her as so wrong. Like you, he’d said on the street, I’m not religious. Quite the opposite, in fact.

  Which meant a devil lurked behind those innocent blue eyes—a devil and a liar and a con man. Sophia sighed. She’d been right about him, of course. “People don’t just change.”

  “He will,” Irene said fiercely, her gaze sharpening. “If I give him the right reason.” Something hard-edged and dagger-sharp moved in her spring-green eyes, a kind of calculation that reminded Sophia she wore nothing but a chemise.

  She fidgeted. “Don’t look at me like I’m about to give him a reason. I want nothing to do with him.”

  “No, of course not,” Irene murmured. But she didn’t look away.

  “Why do you even care about reforming a con man? Wouldn’t it be better to run him out of town?”

  “He wasn’t always this way.” Madam’s gaze glittered in the lamplight as she took a halting breath. “But once upon a time, I was the one who broke him. Now, he wants…well, just a journal, but if I don’t give it to him, he’ll do everything he can to destroy this place. So we’re in a quandary.”

  Broke him how? Sophia wanted to ask. Or, why would he want your journal? But asking would amount to caring, so she issued a shrug and escaped Madam’s strange scrutiny by inspecting the lush boudoir.

  A mahogany four-poster, draped in purple satin, stood against one wainscoted wall. Violet wallpaper echoed the patterned carpet and a Chinese folding screen of amethyst silk partitioned one corner. Jeweled necklaces dangled from the screen, along with a dress like nothing Sophia had ever seen—its bodice was of deep black velvet, its skirts woven from peacock feathers.

  Peacock feathers.

  “You’re rich,”
Sophia said, distracting herself.

  “You will be, too, by the time you leave here.”

  “And you like purple.”

  Irene chuckled, her strange scrutiny vanishing. “Also true.”

  As Sophia squared her shoulders, she knew one thing. Nobody was going to threaten her new life. She would defend the Scarlet Blossom by any means necessary. “I won’t tell the others.”

  “Good. And I’ll need you when the Reverend comes back.”

  “I’ll have my guns ready.”

  Irene’s green eyes flared. “That won’t be necessary.”

  Sophia frowned. If Madam didn’t want the threatening-people kind of help, what did she want? “Okay. Whatever you need.”

  “Thank you.” Madam nodded. “Now, go downstairs and check on Annie, will you? She’s been quiet tonight. Which can only mean she’s gotten into trouble. Again.”

  Shrugging, Sophia turned to go. But as she stepped into the hall, a thought struck her.

  If the Reverend Gray wasn’t a true reverend, why had he tried to save her? Again?

  6. Annie.

  Annie hadn’t meant to play. But when whiskey burned in her blood like a high noon sun, the same tempting song always started up.

  Do something reckless.

  Who was she to say no? A free woman, that was who.

  She plucked up her cards. Nine of spades, nine of clubs, seven of diamonds. Not bad, but nothing to write home about, neither.

  Annie snuck a glance at her opponents. One looked about as pleased as a clam at high tide, but she knew what that smugness meant—a whole lotta nothing. The others were harder to read.

  One said, “Should the Flower of the North lead?”

  Pasting on a grin, Annie tossed a fistful of money into the center of the table. “Y’all don’t got a snowball’s chance in hell.”

  Howls erupted. “Three hundred dollars! Too rich for my blood!”

  “If she isn’t just as bold as she is beautiful!”

  Several miners folded straight away. But soon the pot swelled, and only two opponents remained. Annie eyed the smug one, certain he was bluffing. The other, though . . .

  She conjured a sassy wink. “Hey, Bill. You like that Flame Dance of mine, don’t you?”

  “Sure do.” Bill’s lined face split into a wide grin. “You gonna get up on stage?”

  She leaned forward until her prodigious bosom nearly escaped her corset. “I was thinking more like a private showing, sugar. Just for you. Upstairs.”

  More howling. Fists pounded the table. All around, the parlor spun in an endless dance of laughter and clinking glasses.

  Bill rubbed a weather-beaten hand over his graying beard. “How much’ll that cost me?”

  She widened her eyes. “Who said it’ll cost you anything?”

  “I know you, Annie Marigold.”

  Laughing, she flung an arm into the air. Though the parlor roared, the piano stood quiet, which meant Palmer was at the bar. She didn’t even have to look.

  “Professor!” she shouted. “Seven whiskeys, on me!”

  Moments later, Palmer leaned over her shoulder to deliver the drinks. She caught a flash of…something…in his brown eyes. “Your cards,” he said. “Prime.”

  She blinked. “I don’t take your meaning, sugar.”

  He wandered away without responding. Typical Palmer.

  Shrugging, she turned to her liquor. “Drink up, lovelies.”

  The whiskey burned a smoldering trail down her throat. Her body lightened, swirling with that heady elixir of alcohol and freedom. Her favorite brand of joy.

  Annie’s vision softened around the edges. She wanted to bury her face in the pile of dollars on the table, wanted to see what that much cash smelled like. “Like I was saying, Bill. A private showing. All you gotta do is…fold.”

  Another chorus of howls. Someone clapped Bill on the back, telling him the Flower of the North was worth it.

  Bill considered—for too damn long, in her opinion—then slammed his cards down. “Better be the best goddamn Flame Dance I’ve ever seen!”

  Cheers exploded. Annie threw back her head and laughed. The bluffer didn’t look so smug anymore.

  “What’s the matter, sugar?” she said, all innocence.

  He searched her face, but when she waggled her eyebrows, he said, “I fold, too, damnit.”

  The sweet nectar of victory flooded her, heightened by the collective groan when she threw down her unimpressive hand. Leaping up, she aproned her skirts and shoveled the money in, then gathered the fabric tight. When a few miners whistled, she threw winks all around.

  Turning to Bill, Annie opened her mouth—then shut it again. Across the room, a dark-haired man stood under the chandelier, watching her.

  Heart breaking into a gallop, she whirled away. Though her swimming vision blurred his face, she recognized that hulking stance, that menacing loom.

  Samuel. How in blazes?

  Eyes down, she hid her face. Fat lot of good it’d do, though. The flaming banner atop her head always gave her away. Nobody had hair like hers.

  Bill caught at her arm, not even noticing that all the blood had left her cheeks. “It’ll be the best Flame Dance you’ve ever done, right?”

  “Sure.” She pulled away, barely registering the catcalls as she fled upstairs. In the cool seclusion of the hallway, she leaned against the wall, chest heaving.

  Madam’s door opened. The new girl stepped out, but Annie hardly noticed. The whiskey she’d downed seemed to have evaporated, left behind at the card table, right alongside her precious freedom.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t go back, wouldn’t go back. Madam Irene wouldn’t let Samuel take her…

  7. Sophia.

  The day the Reverend returned, Sophia slouched against one purple wall of Madam’s boudoir. At Irene’s urging, she’d left her guns beneath her mattress, but she’d drawn the line at the suggestion to wear a dress. In her shirt and trousers, she watched Irene fuss with an elegant confection of lilac satin and French lace.

  “You don’t have to look perfect. Not for him.”

  Leaning toward the mirror, Madam touched up a few imaginary imperfections with her cosmetics. “Of course I do.”

  “Why? Are you in love with him?”

  Irene stiffened, then slid a pin into her glistening brown curls. “Don’t be absurd.”

  The stilted answer gave Sophia pause. “Absurd? Good women fall in love with bad men every day.”

  Madam flashed a pensive glare. “Who said he’s bad?”

  “He’s a confidence man. There’s only one kind.”

  Scowling, Madam scooped Riley up and swept behind her desk. The dog stretched out in her lap, poking his stubby legs skyward as he begged for a belly rub. “Tell me, Sophia. Have you ever loved someone?”

  It was Sophia’s turn to stiffen. “Does it matter?”

  “Of course. Sometimes, I wonder if the whole damn business is cursed.”

  Sophia searched Irene’s face. How on earth could Madam have fallen in love with a man who wanted to dismantle her life? It seemed to go against everything she stood for. “The Reverend’s twenty years younger than you. Just so you know.”

  “I’m not in love with him,” Irene said forcefully.

  Shaking her head, Sophia turned away. “If you say so.” Abandoning the subject, she distracted herself with the memory of two nights ago, when she’d run into Annie out in the hall.

  She’d stopped short, her breath stolen by the obscenely large pile of dollars in Annie’s gathered skirts. But the redhead hadn’t even seemed to care. She’d just clutched at the wall, her blue eyes wide, her freckles stark against her creamy skin.

  Sophia had stared. Openly. “Where’d you get all that money?”

  Annie smelled of whiskey. “There’s a man down there, under the chandelier. Sophia, you gotta go look. Tell me if he’s got one blue eye and one brown.”

  Sophia considered. “If I do, will you tell me where
all that cash came from?”

  Annie nodded.

  So Sophia had gone downstairs. But when she’d come back up and told Annie the man’s eyes were green, the redhead had only cackled in relief and said, “Well, if that don’t make me happier than a hog in mud.”

  Sophia shook her head at the memory. Texans.

  Now, she turned, steeling herself against Madam’s probing gaze.

  “What wouldn’t you give, for someone you love?” Irene said. Jewels sparked as pale fingers stroked Riley’s belly. The terrier lolled, his eyelids at blissful half-mast. “What wouldn’t you sacrifice?”

  Sophia tugged at her shirt collar. “Are we still talking about this?”

  “It would seem so.”

  “Do I look like someone who discusses feelings?”

  Irene pursed her lips. “Haven’t you tired yet of being so prickly?”

  Sophia blinked. “No.”

  “Fantastic. What a rewarding investment I’ve made. Now, answer the damn question.”

  Sighing, Sophia sidled toward the window. Outside, the sun had melted to a rosy puddle, drenching the distant peaks in alpenglow. But snow still clung to the highest reaches, stubbornly resisting the lengthening days. Or maybe the ice never melted, this far north.

  The landscape’s unforgiving beauty was like nothing she’d ever seen—harsh and breathtaking, all at once. That stark glory made her feel better about answering.

  “When I was young, I would’ve said love’s worth any cost. But I didn’t know, then, that people’ll abandon you when it suits them. That they’ll want you one day and throw you away the next.” She swallowed. “I do now, though. So I don’t make sacrifices anymore, because you’re right. Love’s no blessing. It’s a curse. Don’t go chasing after it. It’ll only turn and bite you, in the end.”

  Irene stared for an overlong moment. “That’s either terribly cynical or terribly wise.”

  Or both. To Sophia’s relief, footsteps thudded on the stairs, saving her from a reply.

  Madam pushed Riley to the floor and crossed the room. The little dog waddled after her, wounded. But the moment she opened the door, his legs stiffened and he streaked away, down the stairs.