Love Finds You in Deadwood, South Dakota

by Tracey Cross

  “What do you suppose Frank was doing at the saloon?”

  Jane tensed at Bedlow’s question. “I’m sure I don’t know,” she replied. “I was just as surprised as you were.” She gave a sigh. “He brought Danny’s dog, so I imagine he wants to be rid of us once and for all—including Cheyenne.”

  He reached out and cupped her chin. “Or maybe he was bringing the dog for Danny, so he could see you. And please you.”

  Praying for wisdom, she pressed a smile to her lips. “And why would he want to see me? I made it clear last time that I wasn’t leaving with him.” That Franklin might think she wanted to be with Bedlow turned her stomach and sent a burst of reckless courage to her lips. “He doesn’t know it’s only because you kidnapped Danny.”

  “Otherwise you’d let him pay your debt and go with him?”

  “I would take my son back to the home his father claimed for us, and let Mr. Lloyd rent my land for his cattle for as long as it takes to settle the debt I owe him.”

  His dark eyes searched her face. Then, as he had been doing far too much lately, he dipped his head and pressed a kiss to her lips. Usually he settled for a peck that was so fast she didn’t have time to respond. This was different. More bold. He pulled her to him and tried to deepen this kiss.

  Instinctively, she shoved him back, fury building within her. “How dare you! Don’t ever do that again.” Her chest heaved as she glared. She expected him to be angry, perhaps even lash out at her.

  Instead he tossed back his head and laughed. “Oh, you can be sure I will be kissing you like that and better many, many times in the near future.” He glanced at her belly. “It’s not going to be long now.” His face washed of amusement, and he stepped forward, towering above her. “Do not forget who I am, Jane. I love you, but my love, like everything else, has limits. Don’t test me. And as far as Danny’s father—”

  The door opened. Jane let out a breath as Andy walked in. “This is the last of it, Mr. Bedlow.”

  “Fine,” Trent snapped. “Set it anywhere, and get to the saloon. I’ll settle up with you there.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  They remained silent as Andy did as he was told. When he left, he glanced over his shoulder, as though reluctant to leave. But he slapped on his hat and walked outside. Jane noted that he waited for a minute.

  The respite had given Trent time to calm down. “There are gowns in the crates. Find a dark blue one. I ordered it with your eyes in mind. Wear it tonight. You’re coming to dinner at my house.”

  He strode across the room, his boots thudding against the wooden floor. He didn’t look back as he opened the door and made his way across the street.

  Jane unpacked and finally found the dress. Blue, like he’d said, and beautiful. Expensive, and silk. The problem was, it would never fit her in her condition. She imagined how Trent might react if she walked out in her green dress that she wore practically every day. He would be angry. There was nothing to do but fix it so that it did fit her. She walked across the room to the wall shelves that held bolts of material, lace, and ribbons and studied the bolts of calico, cotton, wool, and flannel. All were serviceable materials, but nothing was suitable for a dinner or ball gown. She would have to speak to Trent about that. If he wanted to compete for women’s business, he would need to think of women’s needs. And not the type of women he was used to either.

  But every day men moved to town and brought their families. There were still many more prostitutes and actresses than ladies, but the ladies were coming. Anyone could see it was only a matter of time.

  Standing next to the bolts of fabric, she stared helplessly about the room. Perhaps she should close up the general store and walk to a mercantile—there were plenty of them in Deadwood. Someone surely had some material she could add to her dress to let it out.

  She glanced through the window, across the street to the saloon. Her heart jumped as she made out Trent’s form, standing, watching the store. A chill slithered up her spine. “Dear God,” she whispered. “Will You save Danny and me?”

  Shaking, she turned away and walked back to the crate of dresses. He would just have to understand that if the dress didn’t fit, it didn’t fit, and there was nothing she could do about it. With a sigh, she lifted the lovely gown with longing. Trent or no Trent, she would have loved to wear it. Another gown similar to this one caught her eye, and she lifted it from the crate. Her stomach dipped. This gown was virtually identical. Before she could change her mind, she began to rip the seams, thanking God all the while that Mama Rose had forced her to learn how to sew.

  For the rest of the day, she waited on customers and reworked the dress at a furious pace so it would be finished in time. She had just put in the last stitches when the door opened, and Vera walked in.

  “I told him that would never fit you, but he insisted.” She walked over and snatched up the dress to examine it. Then she glanced, eyebrows raised, at Jane. “I’m impressed.” Fingering the gown, she studied the stitching. “If not for the lace you added for the extra material and the added stitching, I’d have never known the dress didn’t come this way. You’re more than meets the eye, aren’t you? More than any homesteading housewife. Where did you learn to do this?”

  Jane shrugged. Why should she tell Vera anything? She had caused the bruises that were still smudged under Jane’s eyes. Her head still hurt most of the time.

  “Well, wherever it was, you’re too good to be wasting time as a dowdy old general store clerk.”

  “I hear this used to be your job.” Jane knew she sounded petty, but this woman brought her to it. “Maybe that’s why you think my skills lie elsewhere.”

  Vera tossed her head. “Suit yourself. I only came to tell you Trent said you should lock up and get over there so you can have a bath and get dressed.”

  “All right. Thank you for letting me know. I’ll have to clean up around here first.”

  “I was told I’m to do that.” She took the scraps from Jane’s hands. “You have a romantic night ahead of you. Pregnant and all. I’d be very surprised if you come back to the store or the saloon. Trent’s finally taking you to his house. I doubt he’ll bring you out.”

  Dread filled Jane. Was he not going to keep his promise?

  “Isn’t it funny?”

  “No. Not even a little.”

  Vera scowled. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

  Jane inhaled a deep breath and released it slowly. “I’m sorry. What’s funny?”

  “You have everything I would give anything to have, and you hate the very idea of all of it.”

  “I don’t even know what you are talking about, Vera. What could I possibly have that you’d want? I have nothing except debts that keep me from my son and my home.”

  She gave a short laugh. “Never mind. You’d best get. Trent doesn’t wait for anyone. Not even you—at least not for long.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  With every minute that ticked by, Franklin had to fight with himself not to jump back on Tryst and ride to Bedlow’s General Store, grab up Jane, and bring her back to his house.

  Something didn’t feel right, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on just what it was. He had a suspicion that Jane was somehow being coerced into staying with Bedlow. Remembering those days at her homestead, he mentally berated himself for forcing her to do this thing. If he had not been so stubborn—if he had given in about the land. If only he had thought ahead to simply rent her land and let her keep her home, which was really what she cared about, this wouldn’t have happened. She wouldn’t be forced to endure the lower, baser ranks of humanity as she carried out her plan to pay off her debt to Bedlow and make her way home. But Franklin knew Bedlow. He would find a way to keep her indebted to him, especially as he seemed to be in love with her.

  Love. Franklin snorted his disgust. Bedlow didn’t have the first hint of an idea as to what that meant. He possessed. He conquered. Simply put, he pursued until he caught and then took wha
t he wanted and discarded the rest. What would happen if Jane fell into his trap? What if he drew her in to his lies, and she believed him? What if he fooled her into caring for him? Would he take what he wanted from her, leaving her demoralized and empty?

  As dusk was beginning to settle, he closed up shop and mounted Tryst, grabbed hold of Cheyenne’s rope, and headed for home. His route home didn’t exactly take him past Bedlow’s, but he found himself on McKinley Street anyway. He drew in a breath as he passed the saloon. Jane walked out, looking beautiful in a blue gown, her hand tucked inside Bedlow’s arm. He led her to a waiting buggy.

  Franklin rode past without taking a second look. He cut down the alley and doubled back, headed toward his home. His stomach churned. The closer he got to home, the sicker he felt.

  From a distance, he noticed something wasn’t right at home. He kicked Tryst into a canter. The Shen family stood outside the house, their cries and wails rending the air. His heart tore when he saw Huan lying across the horse that just this morning he had been riding, with Jenny behind him, her little arms wrapped around him, trusting. “What happened?”

  “He shot.” Mai pointed. “Dead.” Tears soaked her cheeks. Her swollen eyes were practically closed.

  “Who did this? How did he get here?”

  “Horse.”

  “Let’s get him down and inside.”

  Cheng and Chao pulled Huan from the horse and took him into the parlor. Tears flowed down their cheeks.

  Franklin pulled Cheng aside. “I’m going to the mining camp to try to find out what happened to Huan and to make sure Jenny and her pa are all right. I’m sorry for your loss. Huan was a good man, and I’ll miss him.”

  Cheng nodded and gave Franklin’s arm a pat. Franklin was almost sure the cook understood less than half of what he’d just told him, but he couldn’t waste time trying to make him understand. The sun was giving way to dusk, and if he didn’t hurry he’d be stuck out there after dark, which was dangerous.

  By the time he got to the camp, the sun was almost completely gone. He stopped at the first claim and asked for Mr. Ames. But none knew who he was talking about. Finally, when the camps were settling down and lamps were lit, fires burning bright, he found what he had come after.

  “Ames?” a grizzled old-timer shouted, as though hard of hearing. “Dern shame, what with that little girl and all. And the Chinaman got hisself kilt in the process.”

  “Ames was shot too? Did you see who did it?”

  “Didn’t see who it was.” The miner shoveled a spoonful of beans into his mouth, then spoke as though his mouth wasn’t filled to capacity. “Took the little girl, though. And all the gold Ames had hid away.”

  “He left his gold out here?” Foolish! Foolish! Franklin couldn’t help but think. Ames should have cashed it in and deposited his money in the Deadwood Bank.

  Nodding, the old-timer gave him a sad smile. “He was a book-learned man but not smart in the ways of men. I buried him.” He reached into his tent and came back with a burlap bag. “Nothing valuable here. Just books, some photographs. That’s about it. If the girl ever gets found, she might want it.”

  “That was kind of you. You said they took Jenny?” Franklin held tightly to Tryst’s reins. “Did you see which way they took her?”

  The miner gave a regretful shake of his head. “Wish I knew. I’d go after that sweet gal. Ain’t no tellin’ what they got in mind for a pretty little thing like that.”

  Franklin wanted to believe that all men were essentially good and would do the right thing, but he’d seen too much to allow himself that supposition. Someone had taken that girl, and if he didn’t find her, she could be in grave danger.

  He thanked the old miner for his time and carefully headed back home. Normally, he would make camp rather than chance Tryst losing his footing in the dark and injuring himself, but he couldn’t this time. Not with the Shens mourning Huan and Jenny Ames missing.

  He guided Tryst slowly and methodically until they were out of the woods and close to Deadwood, then the full moon lit the road, and he pushed a little harder. He stopped in the sheriff’s office. The deputy took his statement about Huan and Jenny.

  “We’ll ask around and find out what’s to be done.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “But don’t count on us ever finding that little girl. It’s been hours. Almost a whole day. By the time we can get us a posse together, it will be a full day. There’s just too many places for someone to hide.”

  “But you will go looking?”

  “If the sheriff agrees it’s the thing to do.”

  Frustrated, and without much hope that the so-called Deadwood law would lift a finger to find a lost orphan, Franklin headed back toward home. The Shens had laid Huan’s body out respectfully. “When will you bury him?” Franklin asked Cheng.

  “Tomorrow. We read Bi-ble. You help?”

  “Yes.” The least he could do was help give Huan a Christian burial.

  Mai came into the parlor. “Missa Lloyd, you eat. On table.”

  “Oh, Mai, don’t serve me tonight. You should all be together. Please take the next few days off. I’ll fend for myself.”

  Shaking her head, she tugged on Franklin’s sleeve. “You eat. On table.”

  Franklin allowed himself to be led to the table. Allowed Mai to do what she clearly wanted to do. He sat thinking of Jenny Ames and wondered about her. Was she hurt? Afraid? Crying? It had been a long time since Franklin uttered a prayer. But as he imagined Jenny, hurting and scared, he lifted a silent plea to God.

  Jane couldn’t possibly eat another bite, and she told Trent so.

  “You’re pregnant. You’re supposed to eat like a horse.”

  “Must you always say what is on your mind?” A twinge in her back had been nagging at her all evening, and she had to force herself not to squirm. But her irritation had risen with her discomfort.

  “You are in a foul mood. I should have thought seeing Danny would have made you happy.”

  “It has. I apologize. I’m just not hungry tonight.”

  He gave a sharp laugh. “Maybe you won’t have such a long time getting a pretty figure if you don’t eat so much now.”

  Why couldn’t he just hush? Everything in her wanted to give in to the frustration, to pick a fight. But he was not the sort of man a woman could safely fight with and walk away unscathed.

  Squelching the irritation, she decided to focus on the beautiful, if perhaps a bit too ornate, home. In the dining room alone, the silver and china were worth much more than the debt she had to pay off. The thought irritated her further. The paintings on the wall were costly, and the curtains stitched by someone who most definitely knew how to work a needle and thread.

  “Your home is lovely, Trent.” She took another sip of her water.

  “It could be our home, you know.”

  Jane didn’t want to do anything to anger him, so she determined to keep her voice level. “No, it couldn’t. It couldn’t be my house.”

  Danny burst into the room, his face painted, his hair even longer than it had been since the last time she had seen him. He had run back to his room to retrieve the bow and arrow Trent had purchased for him. Jane placed her arm about his shoulder and pulled him close. “I hope you thanked Mr. Bedlow.”

  His mouth dropped. He turned to Trent. “Thank you, Mr. Bedlow.”

  “I thought we agreed you would call me Uncle Trent.”

  “Uncle Trent.” He grinned.

  “Okay, Crazy Horse,” Trent said, clapping his hands together, “bedtime for you.”

  Jane wanted to protest. She wanted to say, “How dare you decide when my son goes to bed.” But she kept silent.

  Standing, Trent reached his hand to her. “I thought you might like to tuck him into bed tonight.”

  “Yes, I would.” She knew he was waiting for her to thank him. Inside she railed against the very idea. After all, why should she show gratitude for the man allowing her the privilege of tuc
king in her own son? She should be doing that very thing every night, and she would be, were it not for the fact that he had stolen Danny from her. How could anyone be so selfish and cruel?

  In the end, she did take his hand. Another pain seized her back as she stood. And she sucked in a breath as Trent lifted Danny to his shoulder, and they walked down the hall as though one family. As they passed a room a few doors down from Danny’s, a woman exited.

  Jane’s head was turned toward the room, and she saw a figure on the bed. “Who is that?”

  “I want my pa!” a child’s voice called.

  Before the woman could close and lock the door, Jane shoved her aside and pushed open the door. A young girl sat, knees to her chest and blond braids awry. Tears stained her cheeks, and a red handprint marred her face. A food tray sat untouched.

  Jane wheeled on the woman, whose hair was as dark as her expression. Her brown eyes were cold, her lips and cheeks painted rosy, and she wore a low-cut, form-fitting gown. “Did you strike this child?” Jane demanded.

  “That is none of your affair,” the woman retorted, her nose wrinkled in a sneer.

  “I’m making it my affair. Who is this girl, and why is she locked away in here?”

  The question was directed at Trent, and he answered. “Her pa was found dead at the mining camp. The men who killed her pa took her, and my men intercepted them. They brought her to me.”

  “Why wouldn’t they take her to the sheriff?” Suspicion shot immediately through Jane’s mind. Bringing a little girl to Trent made no sense—until she thought of Molly. She had only been thirteen. But this girl seemed much younger—still several years from her first woman-time, surely. She turned to the child. “How old are you, sweetheart?”

  “Eleven.” Hiccups jerked her body. “Can I get out of here?”