She let out a slow breath. Though he hadn’t heard her, he was at least still here.
She headed toward the rocky bank where the small group of men were hunched over, knee deep in the Laramie. Daniel’s stocky build and Timothy’s dark, stringy hair distinguished her friends from the two older men working with them. The adults were so filthy, it was a shame only their legs and arms sloshed about in the river.
As she approached, the gaunt one with short-cropped black hair, Rufus, stood and sloshed toward the bank, pan in hand. The shorter man, Guy, sputtered when Rufus splashed him as he passed, then hauled off and smacked Rufus with his empty sluicing pan.
Rufus held on tight to his own pan and stomped the rest of the way to shore, before leaning down to grab a rock and lobbing it at Guy, hitting him hard in the lower back.
The two charged at each other, cursing like they had the day they’d fought over Miss McGill’s fundraiser basket.
Guy grabbed Rufus and shoved him underwater. Rufus’s limbs churning up the river muffled their cursing.
Rounding a boulder close to the bank, she caught Daniel looking her way and glared at him. With a tilt of her head, she gestured toward the two men fighting like children.
He only shrugged and went back to panning, as if an all-out brawl was nothing out of the ordinary.
He couldn’t care a whit for her if he left her out here with men as immature as these two.
Even if he was worried about his pa finding her hiding on his property, surely nothing his pa would do to him would be worse than what might befall her here.
She looked east. She’d passed this lonely spot of river before. This bend couldn’t be too far from Daddy’s old ranch.
But it was far enough away that no one would hear her scream.
She glanced back at the wagon, shreds of the canvas roof flapping in the breeze.
Ignoring the two men wrestling on the riverbank, she strode straight into the freezing water toward Daniel.
He didn’t turn, so she thunked him on the back.
He jumped, dropping his wash pan. Lunging into the water, he snatched it back up.
“What were you thinking?” He shoved her away and stumbled out past the newly disturbed riverbed muck clouding the water. “Now I have to start over.” He scooped up new sand and swirled the water. “When you start panning, you’ll realize how much I want to sock you right now.”
She crossed her arms and stepped out of his reach. “I’m going home with you tonight.”
“Nuh-uh, my old man’s been dogging my every step since your daddy told him to keep a sharp eye—”
“He’s not my daddy.” She stomped her foot, shooting an icy fountain up under her skirts. “And I’ll sleep in an outbuilding. Your pa’ll never know.”
The two men behind her had stopped fighting, but when she looked over her shoulder, the taller one was watching her. Guy had already returned to his panning.
She gave Rufus a steely glare, but his gaze only dipped down to where her skirts disappeared into the water and then came back up, stopping on her still-flat chest.
She turned away and crossed her arms. “Put me up, or I’ll tell.”
Daniel straightened, towering over her. “Tell what?”
“You know what. But I’ll keep my mouth shut if you hide me on your property.” She glanced over her shoulder again.
Rufus still stared at her, the curve to his lips more sinister than friendly.
Her stomach twisted.
Timothy slugged through the water and gave her a slight nod. “Let her go home with you, Daniel.” He bent over, pretending to add sand to his pan. “I don’t trust them,” he whispered.
“Who said I trusted them?” Daniel snarled under his breath.
“Then let her stay with you.”
Daniel’s mouth turned into a frown. “Fine.”
“Thank you.” She squeezed his shoulder.
He shrugged out of her grip. “But if Pa catches you, I’ll deny everything.”
“I wouldn’t have expected anything different.” She surveyed the strange equipment, stacks of bowls, and wooden boxes. “Now tell me how to go about this gold finding, and I’ll get to work.”
Timothy shook his head. “No girl should be out here doing this.”
What? He thought sloshing water was too hard for a woman?
“Forget staying with Daniel and just go home. Your pa’s the marshal. He’ll be out looking—”
“He’s not my pa,” she sputtered. “And you’re just worried I’ll out-pan ya.”
She snatched Timothy’s sieve and dunked it under the water as she’d seen Daniel do. “Besides, I got nothing to go home for.”
Her heart sank with the words, but they were true enough. So she needed to get some coins in her pocket. Otherwise she’d never be able to do as she pleased.
When the office cleared, Bryant pulled out the questions McGill had given him on yet another property and scribbled down the last set of details he’d been asked to find.
A bachelor, Arnold Jetts, with few financial assets and no connections, owned land abutting the mayor’s property. The parcel contained a good many acres of riverbank along a rocky bend of the Laramie.
Mr. Jetts better have God on his side or the mayor would be propping his feet up on the man’s kitchen table by next month.
In the hallway, McGill’s familiar heavy footfalls sounded. Bryant’s fingers itched to crumple up the list, but handing over this information wasn’t illegal—even if he had a hunch on why McGill was asking for it.
The office door swung open and hit the wall with a bounce. McGill strode straight for Bryant. “Got my information?”
He hesitated for a second, then slid the paper toward his boss and retreated for his desk. If he didn’t discuss the property with McGill, maybe he’d not feel guilty when he recorded the land’s deed changing hands.
McGill leaned against the hip-high counter and lowered his spectacles to read.
Bryant tried to concentrate on his ledgers, but McGill’s occasional satisfied humming made the numbers uncooperative.
“Looks good.” McGill pushed himself to a vertical position. “Seems I may be needing your help—”
“No.” Bryant snapped his pencil. “I will not—”
The door flew open, sending the bell above it clanging.
Leah stumbled into the office, hand to her chest, a frown mangling her pretty face.
Bryant rushed through the short wooden doors separating his desk from the reception area and placed a hand against one of his wife’s flushed cheeks. “What’s the matter?” His heart sped up to match the speed of her staggered breathing. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” She stepped away and looked between him and McGill. “But Celia Hendrix has run away. Jacob’s gone after her, so we need everyone petitioning God for her safe return.”
Bryant strode toward the back wall where his suit coat hung on a peg. He wasn’t worthy to approach the throne of God anymore, but he could search. “I’ll go help Jake.”
He cast a glance at McGill as he threw on his coat, daring him to say no.
McGill’s eyebrows crested, but he turned to Leah, assuming the air of an engrossed listener. “When did Celia disappear, Mrs. Whitsett?”
“This morning, but I only just now learned of it when Annie came to see me. Their family’s already having a difficult time—what with their land and Celia’s disobedience.” She moved forward to flip down Bryant’s lapel, then stood on tiptoe to place a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for helping. I’m off to get more people on their knees. May the Lord help us see Celia safe in bed tonight.”
Leah spun and disappeared into the courthouse hallway so quickly, he hadn’t time to tell her goodbye before the door shut.
“Mighty fine woman you got there.”
The hairs on Bryant’s neck prickled. McGill looking at his wife was something else he could do without. “Yes, she is. I better get—”
“She’s
right about Mrs. Hendrix’s life being no picnic.” Something resembling a chuckle mixed with a snarl escaped his boss’s lips. “You wouldn’t want Leah experiencing that, now would you?”
Bryant glowered at McGill. “I owe you nothing. I’m done.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.” McGill’s unblinking scowl matched his own. “Seems to me you’ll do anything to keep your woman from knowing what I know.”
Bryant shook his head without breaking eye contact. “Go ahead and tell her if you want. I won’t lie to her anymore. I’ll risk her good opinion of me to see you hang.”
“I won’t hang.” He crossed his arms, his legs splayed wide. “But you and I will likely end up as penitentiary roommates.”
“Stuck in prison with you can’t be much worse than constantly lying to the woman who thinks I outshine the moon. But I’ll keep my mouth shut so I can see my youngest marry—that is, unless you keep pushing me.” He poked McGill’s broad chest. “So unless you want me to confess our sins to Jake, count me out.”
McGill’s eyes narrowed, and Bryant forced himself not to take a single step back.
A smirk suddenly contorted McGill’s fleshy face. “Very well.”
His boss snatched the crumpled paper off the counter, plodded into his office, and shut the door.
None of the muscles in Bryant’s body relaxed.
McGill’s easy capitulation only made the churning in his gut increase.
What hidden snare had he stepped into now?
Chapter Thirty-Five
Jacob rubbed his bleary eyes before swinging open the saloon’s batwing doors.
The last gambling hall in town—the last place he’d check for Celia before going home.
He’d led the town’s search party until supper time and hadn’t found a single clue to his stepdaughter’s whereabouts.
But as much as he wanted to find her, he hoped she wasn’t here.
His boot heels plunked against the plank flooring that shone under the gaudy kerosene chandelier, laughter muffling any sound he made. The smoke curling up from the handful of tables made his eyes itch even more.
To the left, a man with a dingy white beard cascading over his gut grabbed the tankard the barkeep handed him before slogging back to his corner table.
Jacob shook his head. A man that age should be wise enough not to frequent such places.
The barkeep, Big Boyd, leaned against the polished counter, hands spread wide, eyeing Jacob as he approached.
“I have na need of ye, Marshal.” The blond barrel of a man cocked his head. “Unless ye’re here ta drink. I heard you’re a married man now. Better men have been driven ta drink for lesser reasons than that.”
Jacob perched his foot on a bar stool’s lower rail. “I’m looking for someone.”
“The bad’uns have stayed away since I hired Peter.” He pointed to a big man hunched in the corner shadows, scanning the crowd. “He’s a bit simple, but he knows how ta knock heads together.”
Jacob dragged his gaze away from the bouncer and toward the back staircase. A disheveled, but familiar looking man was coming down from the upper rooms.
“If it’s a lassie you’re looking for, I’ve got one upstairs right now who might be a tad lonely.”
A sour taste filled Jacob’s mouth. “I am looking for a girl, but not for that purpose. Thought you had more class than to be turning this place into a—”
“I only said the lassie was lonely.” Boyd grabbed a mug and wiped the water spots with a ragged towel.
The tousled stranger stepped off the last stair and finger-combed his hair as he strode toward the bar. “A whiskey, Boyd.”
The man’s stench made Lullabelle’s barnyard odor a pleasant memory.
Jacob flipped through images in his mind trying to place the pungent customer. Black, kinky hair, pencil-thin mustache—
The man turned to Jacob and gave him a curt nod. “Marshal.” He snatched his filled glass and strode away.
Jacob closed his eyes. The leering grin, the rotten teeth ... Ah yes, one of the men who’d bid on Gwen’s basket at the fundraising picnic.
Cold prickles toyed with the hairs on the back of his neck. Annie had been right—no decent man would’ve let Gwen or any other woman be forced to endure such company. The woman upstairs might not be considered decent company, but then, how many saloon girls had known what their job would entail ahead of time? Celia’s naiveté coupled with desperation might lead her down a similar path.
The thought of any man buying Celia’s time, let alone a man such as that, made Jacob want to vomit. “Have you got any new girls up there?”
“I canna say that I have.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
Boyd held his gaze. “I have no new lassies working here.”
Jacob put his hat back on. “If a new girl comes in, real young, auburn hair, lots of freckles, send me word immediately.”
“And what be in it for me?”
Jacob narrowed his eyes. “Nothing but my gratitude.”
Boyd’s jaw worked a bit before he picked up another glass to polish. “That be better than your ill will, I suppose.”
A shout of exaltation erupted from the middle of the room, followed by a table full of groans.
The bouncer slid from the shadows and inched toward the center table where the stinky, snaggle-toothed man had evidently quickly won his first hand.
The scrawny stranger crowed as he swept the small pile of bets to his side of the table.
Jacob tipped his head toward the victor. “Who’s the young, ugly one?”
Boyd barely glanced up from his cleaning. “Name’s Rufus. He’s been in here flashing gold for a fortnight.”
Jacob slid his hand into his pocket and fingered the folded note he’d found under his office door this morning. “Where’s his claim?”
The handwriting on the scrap of paper was familiar now, Jacob’s anonymous tipster. The clues always panned out, but this note was rather cryptic: You find gold on a claim.
What was he supposed to glean from that?
Boyd shrugged. “He’d not tell me, or you, if we were to ask. But he’s spending a loot of money, an’ that’s all I care about.”
Two men in fancy vests demanded the barkeep’s attention, so Boyd moved down the counter to tend their drinks.
Jacob leaned against the bar, watching the middle table. Rufus’s second hand didn’t turn out so well—he lost half his winnings—but he only leaned back in his chair as if he didn’t care.
The dealer and a redheaded gambler kept looking between Rufus and Jacob.
Did they know something he didn’t? He pushed off the counter and headed toward them. Perhaps it’d be best to ask Rufus to join him outside to answer a few questions.
The gamblers quieted as he wended his way through the maze of chairs.
From his peripheral, the front doors opened and a man stepped in, hesitated, then stepped back out.
Jacob pivoted mid-stride and made for the door, a rush of energy quickening his heart. A saloon-goer didn’t change his mind about entering so quickly unless, after spotting a lawman, he had reason to run.
Outside, Jacob blinked against the low-lying sun.
No one to the right.
On the left, a man in a suit disappeared into the alley.
With his hand poised beside his gun, Jacob darted down the boardwalk.
In the dim light between the saloon and a neighboring shanty, a cat darted away from the shadowy figure near the wall.
He stopped and gripped his gun. “Who’s there?”
The figure straightened. “Jake?”
“Bryant?” Jacob rolled the tension from his shoulders and frowned, releasing his grip on his gun. “What are you doing out here?”
“Looking for Celia.”
“In the alleyway?”
Bryant shrugged as he walked closer. “She could be anywhere.”
“Why did you leave the saloon as soon as you walked in?”
“You didn’t tell me you were going to keep looking after the search party broke up.”
“I changed my mind.” Bryant flicked out his handkerchief and wiped his brow in spite of the cool evening breeze.
How long was Bryant going to keep pretending he was acting normally? “Why don’t you just tell me what’s wrong with you?”
Bryant looked away. “I probably ought to.”
Silence.
Jacob arched his brows. “But you won’t?”
“No.” Bryant did look up at him then, a mix of guilt and stubbornness swirling in his eyes.
Jacob looked back toward the street where three saloons were jammed across from Boyd’s Billiards. “You weren’t looking for Celia, were you? You’re frequenting saloons.”
Bryant’s silence confirmed his hunch.
Jacob shook his head. “I can’t believe you’d betray Leah like that.”
“I don’t go upstairs.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you really think me capable of such a thing?”
“If you gamble and drink in secret, why wouldn’t I assume more?”
Bryant’s expression looked as if he could spit fire. “You don’t have to worry about that or anything else anymore. I’ve got everything under control now.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now.” Bryant straightened and gave him a haughty look, then a nervous tic took over his cheek.
Maybe he should hire Peter the bouncer to knock Bryant’s thoughtless head against Celia’s—if they ever found her. “The fact that you haven’t told me about this until now means you’re either trying very hard to convince yourself or you’re flat out lying to me.”
Bryant averted his gaze.
Jacob couldn’t stifle a jaw-popping yawn, exacerbated by the dim light of the dark alley. He rubbed his forehead, the painful pressure behind his eyes deepening. “I’ve got to get home and sleep. I can’t force you to talk to me, but unless you do, unless you clue me in on what’s wrong with you, how can our friendship keep going?”
Romancing the Bride Page 26
