—Quillan
HAVING DRIVEN HIS MUSCLES to the point of pain while chopping wood, Quillan approached Makepeace’s office relatively confident he’d do nothing he’d regret. The man was, after all, in his employ, and there were questions Makepeace was most qualified to answer. It was ridiculous to avoid the man because a friendship had developed with his wife.
Friendship? Quillan fought the dangerous thought that followed. Of course friendship. Anything more would be unworthy of Carina. His wife. To consider her affection for Alex Makepeace anything beyond proper would dishonor the woman he loved. Loved with an almost crippling ferocity. If he’d known how it would be . . .
Would he have it any other way? But it was all so new. Love. Faith. What did he know about either? He needed his old friend Cain. But Cain was gone. Quillan would have to learn on his own. He knocked on the wooden door of the shed near the mine workings.
“It’s open,” Makepeace called from inside.
Quillan turned the knob and walked in.
Alex Makepeace removed his small oval spectacles and laid them atop the papers on the desk. His thumb was stained with ink from the well and pen just to the right of his felt writing board. He hesitated only a moment. “Good morning.”
For the first time Quillan considered the man as Carina might. Pleasant enough in looks, trim, well-kept beard, no rogue’s growth, hair a darker shade of brown than Quillan’s. Regular features and modest physique. Some might say handsome. But there were signs of strain. Was it Quillan, Carina, or the business that caused it? “You’re busy?”
Makepeace shrugged, waved his hand over the desk. “My report to the powers that be.”
Quillan looked around the small room. Neat maps, topographical and survey, hung on the walls. A plane table stood on its tripod in one corner, a stove in the opposite. Beside the stove, a cot. He returned his gaze to Makepeace. “I have some questions.” The man’s lips narrowed, and a tightening around the eyes showed his unease.
Quillan was tempted to make him squirm but said, “I want to know who attacked my wife and why.”
Makepeace interlaced his fingers. “What do you know about the mining business, Quillan?” He motioned, and Quillan took the chair in front of the desk.
“All I want is names.”
“So vigilantes can string them up like the last bunch?”
Quillan flinched. He didn’t like to think of that ugly affair, though he wasn’t surprised Makepeace had heard of it. Even the Tabors in Leadville had heard of it. He’d tried to avoid that action, but would Makepeace understand that? The names Quillan and Carina provided from Beck’s ledger had been the fuel. Cain’s murder had been the match.
“The fact is, most of those high-minded vigilante citizens were probably in on the threats made to your wife.”
“Threats? I don’t consider what happened a threat. I call it an attack.”
Alex Makepeace dropped his gaze to his hands. “The attack she brought on herself, Quillan. And don’t think I say that lightly. I wish . . .”
“You wish what?”
Makepeace aligned his index fingers, unconsciously pointing them at Quillan’s chest though his hands remained resting on the desk. “I wish I’d seen the danger.”
Quillan wanted to contest that, to say it wasn’t Alex Makepeace’s place to protect Carina. But that would only illuminate his own failure to do so.
Makepeace met his gaze. “The men who attacked Carina were spirited away before the echo of my shots died out.”
Quillan winced at the man’s use of Carina’s name. Such familiarity was not easily won with his wife and proved his suspicions. There was also the subtle reminder that it was Alex Makepeace’s gun that had sent the attackers running.
Makepeace said, “You won’t find them. I’ve given the names of those behind the threat to the authorities. Their statements have been taken. I’d wager nothing further will be done. Such action against the most powerful citizens in Crystal would bring chaos. Your fledgling law officials can’t risk that. Besides, what happened was, at least in part, my responsibility and your wife’s.” He stood, walked to the wall, and studied the framed map that hung behind his desk.
Quillan frowned. Maybe Carina and Alex Makepeace had crossed a line that caused trouble between the miners and the management. But he couldn’t ignore what had been done to his wife. That the powerful mine owners of Crystal would resort to hiring thugs to frighten and, yes, even beat a woman . . . He had to understand why.
“How would helping the families of dead miners bring that kind of repercussion?”
Makepeace turned. “Because it isn’t done. Can’t be done without turning the industry upside down. The mining company cannot be responsible for accidents or carelessness. By paying the families, it appeared the mine was accepting blame. I should never have compromised the New Boundless that way. Should never have acted against my better judgment. I don’t know why . . .” He sighed.
Quillan sent him a cold stare. He knew why. Carina Maria DiGratia Shepard. Was there a man alive who wouldn’t buckle under her spell? Especially when her heart was in it? Especially if his was captured already.
“It was an inexcusable lapse.” Makepeace tapped a letter on the edge of the desk. “Hence, my resignation.”
Quillan eyed the letter. “Why?”
“I compromised the standing and safety of the organization.”
“You showed compassion in the face of tragedy. I might have ordered it myself.” If he’d been there when the mining accident, which took thirteen lives, occurred. He felt a fresh guilt for the months he’d left Carina in Crystal alone, though not alone after all. . . .
“And I would have refused. With all respect.” Alex bowed his head slightly.
“But you didn’t refuse Carina.”
Alex Makepeace leaned against the wall. “No,” he said, leaving Quillan to make what he would of that.
Quillan frowned. “I’d like to see the mine records.”
Makepeace raised his brows. “The financial records?”
“All of it, everything.”
“Are you suggesting I’ve acted with less than integrity where your interests—”
Quillan shook his head. “I’m not suggesting anything. I just want to see them, to see how it all works.”
“Your instructions were to deposit your profits directly into the bank. That’s been done except . . . the one time Mrs. Shepard had them diverted.”
So it was back to Mrs. Shepard. “I’m not questioning your good faith. I’m trying to establish what my portion of the mine is worth.”
Makepeace stood in silence a long moment. “For what purpose?”
“For the purpose of sale.” He watched that sink in. “Carina wants to go home. I can hardly look after my interests here or those of D.C., my partner, from Sonoma, California.”