by Kristin Holt
Richard took the missives from Adam, even as his heart sank.
“—was coming through, sir.” The kid murmured something too low to understand.
Cannon Mining could withstand setbacks, business losses, the occasional senseless waste of capital. But two significant tragedies at the company’s two potentially richest sites, within an hour of one another?
Lightning did not strike twice.
Dimly aware Adam had pulled a coin from his pocket and tipped the courier, Richard headed for his office on the main floor of the newly constructed residence, clutching the two telegrams, one in each hand.
Destruction of this magnitude could not have happened.
Big Ezra, 7 AM, he read, ten men lost. Mucking crew crushed beneath falling rubble.
A terrible disaster for the nearby Utah coal mine. The loss of life alone… Anger roiled in his gut.
But coupled with the gram in his right hand, 7:45 AM, twenty-five men killed at Silver Queen. Explosion. Unknown cause.
Tragic. Crippling. Terrifying.
Richard Cannon did not believe in coincidence.
He whirled, found Adam taking his seat on the opposite side of their enormous, two-man desk. The only remaining sign of Adam’s reaction to the distressing news was the momentary pressing of the heels of his hands to his eyes.
Confident they were alone, that no one would overhear, Richard allowed himself to speak freely. “These two so-called accidents were intentional, malicious...” He paced forth and back, unable to find a proper third word to label the vandalism. “They’re getting braver, the cowards. Men died.”
Adam leaned back in his chair. “I know.”
“We have to put a stop to this. Now.”
“I agree. Pranks, petty damages… the vandals escalated well beyond the harmless.”
“I want to storm in with hired guns, fire every last employee, and start fresh.” Sounded mighty satisfying.
“I’ll wager a full nine out of ten current employees are loyal to Cannon Mining. We don’t need a scatter gun to oust these varmints.”
Richard considered the possibility, found it probable.
He flung the telegrams onto his desk and rubbed at the pounding headache behind his forehead.
Who were these men, and what did they want? Had they been hired by a rival company? Or did they destroy for reasons he couldn’t comprehend?
The callousness of the crimes, the lack of concern over the dead men and their families suggested outsiders That remained to be seen.
“Who is to blame? One of our own, obviously. But who among them is foolish enough, cold-hearted enough to risk their own men?”
“I expect we’ll find more than one culprit.” Adam took a pencil from his desk and drew a T on a legal pad. There he went, list-making again.
But Adam found answers by problem-solving on paper. Let him make his lists.
Richard wanted to break something. “Who can we trust? That’s what I want to know.”
“The thousand-dollar question.” Adam had already scribbled in several lines of detail in both columns.
Minutes passed. Adam wrote and Richard fumed, but he’d learned long ago to let his cousin do his best thinking without interruption.
Finally, Adam dropped his pencil. “I find it impossible to believe we have a single culprit. We have seen incidents at all of our fourteen mines during the past nine months—” since Grandfather’s death “—and the increasing frequency, culminating today.”
The answer seemed obvious. “A minimum of fourteen traitors.”
“Yeah. Fourteen active mines. Fourteen men. Probably more.”
They’d be foolish to assume one at each site. “Agreed.”
Adam’s expression darkened. “We need to prepare for the worst. I fear the miners will get the idea that we are somehow responsible.”
Richard had been with Grandfather in Arizona back in seventy-six when violence erupted over far less.
If Richard hadn’t been mature for thirteen years, Grandfather’s inability to shield him might have been a problem— certainly would have been for Adam who’d turned ten that summer.
As it was, Richard had walked away from the warlike conditions a man.
He quickly ran through the list of standard protective measures: strike breakers, hired guns, costly improvements in machinery… or close Big Ezra and Silver Queen before the workers rioted and caused further irreversible damage.
But none of it felt right.
If the standard, tried-and-true business practices couldn’t handle this, then it stood to reason their months-old plan of working class wives might be a colossal mistake.
Adam looked up. “How do you want to handle this?”
“First, I want your honest opinion regarding the women. In light of the newest developments.” Richard’s stabbing headache flared again. “Mining camps are no place for women, especially when violence erupts.”
One of the best parts about controlling the family business with his younger cousin as his second, was knowing Adam always had his back. If he could trust anyone implicitly, he trusted Adam.
Did he dare hope his bride would engender half as much loyalty? He knew Adam had carefully written the advertisement to ensure loyalty in their working class brides. No silver-spoon, spoiled maidens for them.
How a precisely worded advertisement could find the right pair of brides was beyond Richard. He’d wanted to interview all candidates but that would have taken weeks if not months— time they did not have.
Adam had read the wire from the twin sisters and pronounced them the future Mrs. Cannon and Mrs. Taylor. Though he did allow Richard the final say.
A brother in the truest sense, Adam consistently offered wisdom but allowed Richard to make the final decision. About business, about a pair of brides, about this terrible news.
What if he made the wrong choice?
Just once, he’d like to share the burden of decision-making. “Your thoughts?”
“We’re facing a different set of challenges than in June when we finally placed the advertisement.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s possible the women, our wives, will be in danger in the camps. But it’s also possible they’re still precisely what we need.”
When his cousin said nothing further, Richard asked, “What, exactly, are we going to do with the brides once they arrive? Our former plan seems obsolete.” They’d thought they had time for tutelage. Conversation and instruction. All from the safety of their homes.
And when things settled down in the mines and the threat decreased, they’d take their wives for a visit, let the workers see the owners of Cannon Mining valued the working class, understood their employees— because they’d chosen women just like them.
As if Adam’s next-door house were visible, he gestured in the general direction. Their communication was so easy, so clear, he couldn’t misunderstand his reference to both homes, built with their wives in mind. “We don’t have the luxury of time. Not anymore.”
Like a wildfire, the problem had gained momentum, shifted directions, surged well beyond their control. Richard hated feeling helpless.
“We’ll learn on the move.” Adam reclaimed his pencil and added notes to his chart. “As quickly as feasible after the weddings, we take our wives with us, visit the camps, and do whatever it takes to salvage operations.”
Richard tried to picture taking a woman with him to any one of the fourteen mining camps, company towns in the desert mountains surrounding their home-base in Ogden City. The idea wouldn’t gel. “But what, exactly, do we do?”
“With our working-class brides at our sides we’ll mourn. Talk to the men. Play ignorant to the willful malicious intent behind these ‘accidents’. And our wives will help us get through to the men.”
Richard recalled Adam’s argument for sending for mail order brides in the first place. The women would be able to teach them everything they’d failed to learn in their privileged upbringing. And thei
r presence, beside the mine owners, would speak loudly to the workers.
Adam searched Richard’s face. “The ladies, by nature of their similarities to the miners, will make all the difference. They’ll know what to do.”
“I pray you’re right.”
Though he’d been raised to keep business and home life separate, he’d had months to adjust to the idea of letting his new wife in on the workings of Cannon Mining… but from the comfort and safety of this residence.
Now he had to shift, and quickly, to acclimate to the idea of taking her along into the rough and often lawless mining camps.
“It sounds mighty risky.” Nothing Adam didn’t already know, but someone had to say it.
“Yeah, but I don’t see where we have another option.”
“I don’t think the men responsible for our troubles want to talk. If they did, we wouldn’t have received telegrams with notices of deaths. Our weekly communication with the foremen would suggest we pay a visit and consider situations at the mines.”
Adam nodded, obviously resigned to the same conclusion.
Richard leaned against the window sill. His headache ebbed and his fury had dulled to a mere simmer. He could actually be still without the desperation to run, hard and fast and smash something. “What do they want?”
If he’d known what to do, how to reach the men who insisted on underhanded ‘communication’ through destruction of company property, he’d have put a stop to it months ago. “What is their objective?”
“If we knew that, we wouldn’t have need for trustworthy, loyal women to help us figure it out.”
“One thing we have to remember…” Intensity turned to desperation on Adam’s face. “If the wrong men in any of the mining camps realizes our wives are there to act as emissaries, to bridge the gap between us as owners and them as employees— and it’s against their vision of whatever it is they’re trying to accomplish by the vandalism and terror…”
Richard closed his eyes against the stark realization. The women… his soon-to-be-wife and her sister, the faceless Hadley twins who were at this very moment on the Overland Flyer between Council Bluffs and Ogden City— would be in significant danger. Was he willing to take a woman, especially his wife, into battle?
Like Adam, he understood the ramifications. “We have to make it completely clear to the men that our purpose in visiting is to care for the widows and see what might be done to increase safety measures.”
“We’ll have to watch our every step, our every word. If they suspect we’re trying to figure out who’s behind the ‘accidents’—”
“I agree.” He saw the importance, was fully prepared to exercise extreme caution.
“You do realize this means our plan to withhold information from the brides won’t work any longer. If they’re unaware of the circumstances, they’ll stay something they shouldn’t or somehow give themselves away. We have no idea who to trust at each mine and who we cannot. The only way to protect the women is to tell them everything.”
“You’re right.” Richard fought the urge to curse. “And somehow convince them to stay, work with us, cooperate, once they understand the challenges?”
Adam had honed his charm to a highly effective tool. He had no difficulty winning over anyone he chose to. But Richard wasn’t nearly so suave.
“It’s more than convincing them to cooperate. We must persuade them to tell no one. Our awareness, our plan to locate the traitors must go no further than the two of us and the two of them.”
“I’m sure they’ll comprehend the need for secrecy.” Fear of being found out generally helped that cause along. “We’ll explain the situation.”
“Before or after the ceremonies?”
Richard weighed the question, the consequences of both. Obviously Richard’s cogs were turning, too.
Marriage was permanent, and once they were wed, the ladies would be more invested, have greater reasons to keep the company secrets. If Cannon Mining shared all secrets only to have the twins change their minds… “After.”
“Would you like this disclosure to occur together or in couples?”
Richard considered the alternatives. “Separately. I’d rather try my luck trying to convince just one woman.”
“And if this doesn’t work?” Adam, the eternal optimist, doubted the veracity of his plan?
“I’ll be stuck with a wife who cannot help me and Cannon Mining the way I need her to.”
“In other words, the risk we’ve already taken.”
“Indeed.”
“What will you do with her if she won’t keep our secret?”
Richard considered that. He vaguely gestured at the house. “Leave her here and go to work.”
“It won’t come to that. I’m confident.” Adam smiled for the first time since the telegrams arrived. “We do have one more decision to make.”
“What?”
“Fourteen mines and two of us. I suggest Big Ezra and Silver Queen should be our top priorities.”
Currently the most valuable mines, and thus far, the only places where foul play had resulted in multiple deaths. “Agreed.”
“Only one question.” Adam pulled a coin from his pocket. “Who will go and who will stay? Call it.” He flipped the coin and caught it between stacked hands.
“Heads.” If he stayed in Utah, he had a chance of keeping an eye on the silver and lead smelting plant in west Ogden, in addition to snooping around Big Ezra.
Adam chuckled and peeked at the coin. “Tails it is. Looks like I will have the pleasure of days alone with my bride in the private rail car en route to New Mexico.”
“Do you anticipate your bride will relish another journey immediately?
“New Mexico can’t wait, cousin. I need to attend to the Silver Queen promptly. And I happily anticipate time alone with my bride.”
“You do?” He couldn’t imagine the first week or two would be more than pleasantries, social niceties. How did a husband carry on a conversation with a wife he barely knew?
“I do. I need to become well acquainted with my wife, given we missed out on the courtship stage.” He almost smiled. “The sooner we fall in love, the better.”
“Ha.”
“Love is a choice.”
“Maybe.”
“We’ll see. I’m right about the mines, too. We’ll get this all squared away, and Mrs. Taylor and I will be home in time for the holidays.”
Chapter Three
He liked the cover of darkness. It suited him.
He waited at the designated location, not too far off the path but not too close. Judging by the length of time it took him to make his trek in daylight, he judged himself to be less than ten minutes early for the scheduled rendezvous.
Perfect.
He preferred to be the first into position. Kept the other guy guessing, at a disadvantage, and secured himself the place of dominance.
A chill mountain wind rushed down the canyon, burning his ears with a hint of winter. The leaves had started to change already, brilliant patches of yellow among the aspens, flashes of red in the scrub oak. In daylight, the trees made a mighty fine picture.
Right on time, his subordinate approached, making less sound on the rocky path than some. The other fellow moved with a bit of stealth, awareness, intention.
He liked that in a fellow, especially one he was about to trust with a responsibility not fit for just anyone.
“You’re on time,” the man said, once the shadow approached, through the falling leaves and just as a slice of late September moon peeked through the wind-driven clouds overhead.
“Yessir.”
He liked a bit of respect in an underling. A fellow who understood his place.
“Tonight’s the night.”
Silence. The other guy dipped his head, a habit he’d noted all times of day or night. Had nothing to do with the sun in his eyes or an unwillingness to allow others to read his expression. Nope, this fellow had a pretty loud tell, he did. Informed
everybody within line of sight he was mighty uncomfortable and wrestling with a decision.
He didn’t like that, not one little bit. “I’m counting on you. We all are.”
“Yessir.”
“You’re weak.”
“Well, I—”
“No excuses.” His blood heated up, right fast. It would feel good to release a little steam. “I don’t like excuses.”
“Yessir.”
Same thing. The guy dipped his head, the nervous tell-tale sign might be an indication he’d rethought his involvement and wanted out.
Well that was just too damn bad. They had a schedule to keep, and it was time for the next stage of the game. “You in, soldier, or not?”
“My brother’s working the day shift. He’ll be down there—”
Quick as a rattler strike, the man threw a fist, caught the simpering lowlife square in the nose. Cartilage crumpled, bone broke, blood spurted.
A rush of exultant pleasure ripped through him.
Must’ve caught a bone fragment right through the brain, ‘cause the unworthy fellow dropped in his tracks.
The thud sounded hollow. Simple flesh upon earth and vegetation. Could’ve been a tree falling prey to the wind.
He flexed his fist, shaking out the pressure against his knuckles and smirked.
One problem solved. One to go.
Some things a man had to do himself to see it done right.
Lessie clung to Josie’s hand as they entered the red brick, three-story Union Station in Ogden City.
The main lobby, filled with people coming and going, seemed a terrible place to find two men they’d never met and had no idea their age or even general appearance. Why hadn’t she thought to ask for a description?
Lessie tugged her twin out of the main flow of foot traffic and searched the crowd.
Eventually, her attention landed on two whose stunned gazes tracked from her face to Josie’s and back again… and their disappointment couldn’t have been more acute if they’d tried. A quick exchange between the dark-haired men, and they approached.
