Linda Castle - Temple's Prize

“In the past there have been rumors that Temple, I mean Mr. Parish, has been known to employ methods that were considered—uh—corrupt.” Constance wrung her hands and paced up and down the bare floor of the room. The solitary kerosene lamp managed to illuminate the small room quite well. Her pulse was still beating unevenly and she admitted to herself that she had never before been quite so excited. All her preparations and precautions were necessary and completely legitimate since she was dealing with Temple Parish. Any sensible individual could see he was a man without principles. She really had no choice, Constance told herself.

“Securing this endowment is very important to my father’s reputation and it is vital to the university. It is extremely consequential to me as well,” she admitted while she stared at the moon hanging in the Montana sky.

“Yes, miss, I see that you are real serious.” Peter kept his eyes on her while she paced up and down. The heavy black material rustled with each tense step.

“I am so pleased that we have come to this understanding, Mr. Hughes. It does take a burden from my shoulders. When we leave tomorrow I shall rest easy in my mind now.” She walked to her carpetbag and dug down deep inside it. “And I insist that you take something extra, for your trouble.”

“Miss, that really isn’t necessary,” Peter began.

“No—I insist This is not part of the original agreement you made with Mr. Montague and his agents. I wouldn’t feel right about you doing these things for me, unless you allow me to compensate you for your inconvenience.”

Peter stared at Miss Cadwallender. Behind the thick spectacles she had soft brown eyes fringed with thick curved lashes. They reminded him of a fawn’s eyes, innocent and trusting. A light dusting of freckles was sprinkled across the bridge of her nose. He felt a strange and unexpected protectiveness toward her, as if she were a favorite niece.

“Please, Mr. Hughes.” Constance extended the handful of money. “Please take it, I would feel much better if you did.”

“If you insist, Miss Cadwallender, but I’d do it for nothing—for you.” Peter felt heat in his cheeks when the words tumbled out, but it was true. He liked this young woman. And, he realized, he was going to have a jolly good time watching her turn Temple Parish’s arrogant hide inside out. He shoved the bills deep into his pocket while a grin crept across his lips.

She blinked behind the thick eyeglasses. “You are so kind, Mr. Hughes. I cannot tell you how your assistance will speed my work. Thank you once again.”

“Is there anything else, Miss Cadwallender?” Peter stood. It was getting late and he needed to get some sleep.

“No—nothing I can think of, Mr. Hughes. You have been most tolerant of my situation.”

“Don’t mention it, miss.” Peter stepped out onto the landing before the chuckle bubbled from his throat. Young Miss Cadwallender was crafty. She had the kind of mind old boss Tweed would have admired. Peter took two steps toward the narrow stairs before he heard a strange hissing noise. He stopped and tilted his head to listen. The noise was a little like the sound a bobcat makes. Peter squinted his eyes and peered down the narrow hall.

“Psst.” The sound came again.

Peter whirled around and found Temple Parish hiding behind a half-open door at the opposite end of the narrow hallway.

“Psst.” Temple Parish waved his hand at Peter. “Come here.”

Peter raised his bushy eyebrows and pointed at his own chest in doubt.

“Yes—you. Come here,” Temple whispered harshly while he gestured with his hand once again.

Peter walked down the hallway toward the partially open door, puzzled by Parish’s strange behavior. When he reached the door, Temple opened it wide enough to grab Peter’s shirt with one hand. He jerked him inside the room and shut the door behind him.

“What the devil is this all about, Parish?” Peter jerked his shirt from Temple’s fingers. No wonder Miss Cadwallender was nervous; having to deal with this hothead would make a body plumb jittery. “What’s the matter with you?” Peter demanded.

“I need to talk to you.” Temple Parish snapped.

“Couldn’t it wait until tomorrow morning when we leave?” Peter straightened his shirt and glared at Temple.

“No. I wanted to discuss our arrangement—before you guide us to the site tomorrow morning.”

“Oh.” Peter nodded knowingly. “Are you backing out—admitting the lady is a better—uh—digger?”

“Not on your life.” Temple stood with his boots spaced wide apart. He crossed his arms at his chest and gave Peter a scathing glare. “The very notion is ridiculous.”

Peter shrugged. “I was just asking.” He glanced at the narrow bed, smooth and untouched, and the single wooden chair in the room. “Can I sit?”

Temple blinked rapidly, as if he had only just become aware of the furniture in the tidy little room. Peter had a notion Temple had been wasting as much shoe leather pacing up and down the floor as Miss Cadwallender had been doing a bit ago.

“Sure—sit. Would you like a drink? I have a bottle in my valise.”

If Parish was starting out with the pretext of a drink, Peter assumed the subject was going to be a ticklish one.

“I could drink—” Peter grinned and eased himself into the chair “—as long as you are buying.”

Temple tossed a battered leather valise onto the bed. He unfastened the buckles on the worn straps and pulled the ancient satchel open. He dug into the contents like an angry badger through loamy turf. Finally he brought out a bottle of whiskey. Peter had not seen that particular brand since he left New York.

“Sorry, I don’t have any glasses,” Temple apologized.

“Don’t need any.” Peter took the bottle by the neck, uncorked it, wiped off the lip and took a long swallow. The full-bodied liquid burned pleasantly down his gullet. It left a wave of memories from the old days in its wake. Peter pushed the dim recollections aside and focused on Temple’s face. “What did you want to talk about?”

“About tomorrow.” Temple clasped his hands behind his back and started to pace the room. His expression was darker than a rain cloud. Peter took another pull on the bottle and waited.

“When I find what I’m after, the bones, and I leave—” Temple stared at Peter with his brows pinched together I’sI—know little Connie, I mean Miss Cadwallender, will be very disappointed. I just want to make sure you will stay with her, see that she gets back on the train safely, after I am gone. Will you do that?”

Peter grinned in amazement. He had expected quite a different request from Temple. The way Parish was talking now, if Peter didn’t know better, he would have sworn that Miss Cadwallender was a child, instead of the calculating and very capable lady she appeared to be. But Peter decided to go along with Parish’s scheme, at least as long as he was serving aged whiskey.

“Sure, I’d be happy to keep an eye on the little lady. Course, you know this is an extra service. This is above what I had agreed to do for Mr. Montague. I would have to have—compensation.” Miss Cadwallender’s term rolled cleanly off his tongue.

“Of course, I wouldn’t expect to have it any other way,” Temple said dryly. He strode to the bed and dug deeper into the valise. He pulled out a soft leather pouch. He brought out five silver dollars and put them in Peter’s waiting hand. “There is one other thing, Hughes.”

Somehow Peter had known there would be. “And what is that, Parish?”

“I want to be sure that my messages reach the telegraph office here in Morgan Forks without interruption. I need to be sure Mr. Montague is informed of my progress daily and he is notified the very moment I find his dinosaur for him.”