Linda Castle Read Online Free PDF Page B

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?” Peterstood. 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