by Jo Goodman
Whit was breathing hard. He indicated the lantern in his hand. “All right if I put this down?”
Quill nodded.
Whit’s eyes darted to Calico. “That all right with you, too?”
“I’d just rather shoot you, but yes, do what Marshal McKenna says.”
“Marshal?” He turned his attention back to Quill. “Since when?”
Quill used the barrel of the Colt to point to the ground. “Set it there.”
Shrugging, Whit started to comply but then did two things simultaneously. He threw himself sideways and tossed the lantern at Quill. Calico fired. Her shot was just wide of the mark, and Whit rolled out of the way so that her second shot slammed into the ground near his head. At the same time, Quill threw up an arm to deflect the lantern. The barrel of the Remington broke the globe. He and Ann were showered by shattered glass, oil, and then fire.
Calico saw that Whit was on his feet, but she holstered her Colt and let him go when he started to run. Sheer frustration made her heave the pickaxe at his retreating back. She did not wait to see where it landed. She stripped off her duster instead and threw it over Quill and Ann as they rolled on the ground. It did not take long to smother the flames, and neither Quill nor Ann sustained any burns, although the smell of burnt wool and leather made them check themselves twice over.
Calico let Quill fend for himself and helped Ann to her feet and patted her down for hot spots. She stopped abruptly when she felt Ann’s bulging pockets. “Holy Mother of God,” she said softly. “Ann? Is this what I think it is?”
Ann’s face crumpled as tears flooded her eyes and dripped past her dark lashes. To her credit, she did not shy away. Her voice, when she finally had the wherewithal to answer, was hardly more than a whisper. “Do you think it is dynamite?”
“I do.”
Ann sucked in a shuddering breath and nodded. “I forgot about it.”
Quill stepped closer to the pair. “Someone tell me I did not hear what I just heard.” When neither woman spoke, he swore feelingly. “Calico. Back away from her. Ann. Don’t move. Think of it this way—since you and I haven’t already blown ourselves to kingdom come, the chances are very good that you are in possession of sticks that have not been compromised.” He waved Calico away. Not surprisingly, she did not go eagerly, and she did not go far.
Quill took up Calico’s place in front of Ann. “I am going to unbutton your coat. Do you understand?”
She nodded and bravely said, “I c-can do that.”
“I know, but allow me.”
Uncertain, Ann looked at Calico.
“Let him,” said Calico. “He’s a preacher’s boy. Sometimes he just needs to do good works.”
“All right.”
Quill smiled. That short exchange was all he needed to unfasten Ann’s coat. He was removing it from her shoulders before she realized it was open. He carried the coat closer to the entrance and laid it on the ground. Over Calico’s protests, he emptied the pockets and examined the sticks. There were no crystals on the sticks or in the pockets. Keeping his back turned, he slipped two of the sticks inside his jacket, and when he returned to Ann, he gave her his coat and helped her into it. It swallowed her whole.
“How did you get the sticks?” Calico asked Ann. “Did Whit make you take them?”
“No. Whit? Is that his name? That does not seem familiar, but I couldn’t remember.”
“Maybe he told you it was Marcus White, but he’s Nick Whitfield.”
“Oh. Yes, you’re right. I heard both. But no, he did not force them on me. He let me wander down the tunnel. I think it was only so he could chase and trap me. I hid, and that’s when I found them. There is a room filled with them, or at least I suppose that’s what was in the crates. I took four sticks. I don’t know why I did that. It was an impulse. I was afraid and I thought they might be useful. I swear I forgot I had them.”
She blinked back tears as she looked from Calico to Quill and back again. “Tell me what’s happened to my father. I shouldn’t have left him. Aunt Beatrice said . . . no, it doesn’t matter. I should not have left him.”
Calico pulled Quill’s coat more tightly around Ann. The gesture was both a hug and a shake. “Your father is going to recover. He was conscious when Quill and I left the house. He spoke to Quill. We know some—not all—of what happened. No one blames you. Ann? Look at me. None of this is your fault.”
“But I gave him the—”
Quill said, “We know. Listen to Miss Nash. You are not responsible.”
Unconvinced but hopeful, Ann nodded.
Calico stepped back and looked over at Quill. “I missed Whit. Twice.”
“I won’t tell anyone.”
Ann said, “He tripped when you threw the pickaxe. I saw him go down as Mr. McKenna was tackling me. I think you might have hit him with it.”
Calico’s expression was a mirror of Ann’s earlier one: unconvinced but hopeful. “He was heading toward the footbridge,” she told Quill.
“Go on,” he said. “I’ll catch up. Find cover, Calico. Don’t try to take him in out in the open.” As she hurried away, he asked Ann, “Are there more lanterns in there?”
“Yes. But you have to go a ways before you’ll come to one that is lit.”
“Can you go back in there and bring one to me? You’ll have to come in the general direction of the footbridge. I’ll meet you.” He could see she was scared, and he did not wait for her answer. She would either do it or she wouldn’t. He left her shivering inside his coat and went after Calico.
Quill had no difficulty finding her. She was tucked behind the concrete block that supported an old water cannon. The monitor had not been used since gold mining days, but no one thought it was worth the time or effort to remove. Quill had reason to be glad that it was left in place because Calico was reasonably safe as long as she kept her head down.
Whit was crouched on the near side of the footbridge, partially hidden by rocks and a large mound of ice and snow that had been cleared from the bridge. His cover was almost as impenetrable as the support block Calico was using.
Quill did not have a clear shot. Crouching, he sprinted toward Calico. Whit fired once. The shot kicked up bits of rock half a yard in front of Quill.
“Waste of a cartridge,” Quill said as he squeezed in beside Calico. “He wasn’t close.”
“His shot was forward.” She added dryly, “Maybe he thought you were faster.”
“Amusing. Why hasn’t he crossed the bridge? I didn’t hear you fire at him.”
“He’s been hiding there all along. I saw him before he saw me. He didn’t have a chance to fire before I got this far. I can’t figure him. It’s getting lighter out. He is going to be visible from the other side when the miners start reporting to work.”
“You think they’re going to show? I have to believe there are folks who already heard shots. Maybe they’re curious, but they are also keeping their distance.”
Calico inched her head above the block and cannon. “He’s still there. I can just make out the top of his hat against the snow.” She dropped back. “In his place, I would have made a run for it into town. Better opportunities to hide there.”
“He might be injured. Ann could be right, and you really did hit him with the pickaxe. It would explain why he didn’t get very far. Depending where you hit him and how the axe struck, he could be in a bad way.”
“I would really like to believe that.”
“How’s your arm?”
“Holding up. I should have been able to hit him with at least one of my shots. I pulled to the right both times.”
“Maybe, but I appreciate you stopping to help put out the fire. I’m sure Ann does, too. I did not expect that move from him.” Quill edged sideways to take a peek at Whit’s location. He caught him poking his head above the rocks and snow and looking in th
eir direction. “He’s trying to figure out what we’re doing.”
“So am I.”
Quill said, “Do you suppose he’s afraid to cross the bridge?”
“What?”
Quill shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just wondering if he might be scared to go across.”
“I’ll be darned. That never occurred to me. The bridge can hold him, can’t it?”
“Sure, but maybe he doesn’t realize it. Or maybe he’s afraid of the deep drop under it. Some of the miners take the long way around to avoid the bridge.”
“If you’re right, he’s stuck there until the snow melts.”
“I don’t know about you, but I am not in favor of waiting for the spring thaw. Maybe we can get him to go for the bridge.”
“And you can pick him off.”
“Maybe, but we have to get him to go for it first.” Still crouching, he inched around to look back at the way he’d come. “And there she is. Good girl.”
Calico followed his gaze and saw Ann picking her way across the rough, rutted ground to reach them. “Quill! Tell her to get back and take cover.”
He was already waving Ann to move out of the open when Calico spoke. Ann found relative safety behind rubble and rock.
“I thought you told her to stay put,” said Calico. “What is she doing? And why does she have the lantern? It only calls attention to her.”
“She’s safe, and she’s not coming any closer. I’m going to her.” Before Calico could try to stop him, he was up and running. Whit fired at him, missed, and Calico returned fire that put Whit back in his hidey-hole. Quill was a little winded but unharmed when he reached Ann. “I did not expect you to walk out in the open that way. Calico wants a piece of me almost as much as Whit.”
“I didn’t know,” Ann said helplessly.
“Hey. It’s all right.” He took the lantern. “Whit’s behind that pile of snow and rock. He knows you’re around, so you keep your head down no matter what happens. No matter what. Understand?”
Ann nodded.
“Good.” Quill leaned in, kissed her lightly on the forehead, and said, “Lucky Boone Abbot.” Then he was gone.
“What was the purpose of that?” asked Calico when Quill got back.
Quill set the lantern between them. He reached inside his jacket and produced two sticks of dynamite. “This was the purpose of that. I took these from Ann’s pockets, but I needed a way to light them. Since neither of us carries matches, it had to be the lantern. Ann got it for me.”
“She went back in there?” Calico shook her head, smiling faintly. “Ann Stonechurch has spine. I think even she will know that now.” She pointed to the dynamite. “I take it you have a plan for that.”
“I do.”
“We’re going to blow the bridge?”
“No. We’re going to blow his cover.”
Calico grinned. “Even better.”
“You want to throw? I think we’re going to discover that you did well with the axe.”
“All right.” She opened the lantern so Quill could light the fuse.
“We don’t want the fuse to go out so you’ll have to let it get a good burn before you pitch the stick. Aim closer to the rock, not the snow mound. If he sees it coming, he should run. If he doesn’t see it coming, it should punch enough rock to make him run. Ready?”
Calico looked over the water cannon to judge distance and the best target for her throw. When she dropped back down, she nodded. “Ready.”
Quill lit the fuse, gave her the stick, and removed his gun as he looked around the side of the block. It was hard not to hold his breath as he waited for her to throw. He could have sworn he heard her whisper, “Fire in the hole,” and then he saw the stick somersaulting through the air, covering the distance in an elegant arc, the tip of the fuse like a firefly against the dim, dawning sky.
Calico’s aim was true, but she had held the stick a little too long, and it exploded just before it reached its target. Whit popped up from behind the snow mound like a prairie gopher, but he was not ready to run yet. Quill quickly lit the second stick and gave it to Calico. “Again,” he said. “But don’t hold it as long.”
Calico counted to three, stood up, and let it fly. There was no doubt it was going to reach its target. Whit must have realized it, too, because he was up again and hobbling as fast as he could to the bridge. Rock and snow exploded in his wake. Quill had to wait for the blizzard of debris to settle to get a clear shot, and he waited another moment to gauge the rhythm of Whit’s ungainly gait, and finally he waited to ease out a breath and steady his hand.
He fired.
Nick Whitfield flopped sideways over the rail of the bridge and hung there like wet laundry.
Epilogue
From her comfortable corner position on the parlor sofa, Calico stared at the fire while Quill added logs. He stayed there until the flames licked greedily at the new wood, and then he returned to the sofa. In the short time he had been gone, she had decided to treat the sofa as if it were a chaise and was now stretched languidly across the gold damask cushion.
“Head or feet?” he asked as his eyes grazed the length of her. “I have absolutely no preference. Either end has appeal.”
That made her smile. “Then feet, please, and if you will remove my shoes, I will love you past forever.”
“Done.”
Calico drew her feet up and let him do the rest. Watching him deftly unfasten the tiny buttons on her black kid boots without benefit of a buttonhook was a sight to behold. She actually sighed. “You are very good at that.”
He glanced sideways at her, one eyebrow arched in a significant manner. “I am motivated. The idea of being loved past forever is persuasive.” Quill turned his attention back to his task, slipped the buttons free on her right shoe, and removed it. The dull thud it made when he dropped it on the rug did not drown out Calico’s soft moan of pleasure. He gave her foot a gentle squeeze, patted it, and then directed his attention to the other shoe.
“Boone Abbot’s gone?” asked Calico.
“I showed him out before I came here. Ann went to her room. I suspect that right now she is leaning out her window and Mr. Abbot is standing below it with stars in his eyes. I promised myself I would not intrude.”
“How tolerant of you.”
“She is not my daughter, and it is not, thank God, Romeo and Juliet being staged out there. Ramsey did himself proud by not holding Joshua Abbot’s participation in the sabotage against Boone. No Montagues and Capulets here.” He removed the second shoe and dropped it beside the first. “Stockings? On or off?”
“Off.”
Quill reached under Calico’s skirt and petticoats, unfastened her suspenders, and began rolling the stockings one at a time over her knees and down her calves. When he looked over at her, he saw she had dropped her head back and closed her eyes. He added the stockings to the shoes and garters and began to consider what else she might allow him to put there.
“Feet, please.”
Chuckling, he applied his thumbs to her right foot. She arched her neck and shivered. “Feels good, does it?”
“Mm.” She opened one eye and looked at him. “Did you hear from Ramsey today? You never said.”
“There was a telegram. He only confirmed that he would be returning tomorrow.”
“With or without Beatrice?”
“He didn’t say.”
Calico closed her eye. “I think that’s telling, don’t you?”
“I was trying not to speculate, which is why I didn’t say anything earlier.”
“But you do think it’s telling.”
Quill gave her foot a good squeeze. She yelped, laughed, and tried to get her foot out of his grip but did not try very hard. When she settled back again, he relaxed his hold and continued the massage. “I think it means he found t
he asylum as satisfactory as he could hope for and that he will be leaving her behind as planned.”
Calico nodded. “I wonder if she can comprehend the tolerance that Ramsey’s shown her? The only reason she is not facing trial is because he would not have any part of it.” She fell silent, thoughtful, and finally said, “Maybe that is for the best. I hope it is. I want something good for Ann. I think she is making peace with her father’s decision to commit Beatrice.”
“Ann had a part in that whether she realizes it or not. I would never say as much to her, but when Ramsey refused to ask her to testify against her aunt, there was really nothing left for him to do. Can you imagine Beatrice Stonechurch living the remainder of her life outside of a cell or a locked ward? There would be no peace for Ramsey or Ann. No peace for this town.”
“I know. I’ve thought of that, too. She believed everyone betrayed her and her husband’s memory. She turned on every miner who fell in with her.”
“She baited them with promises and kept them hooked with the memory of her husband. Cavanaugh. Joshua Abbot. And to learn that two of the men in the circle that night were Mr. Birden and Mr. Neeley-Brown? I had to admire the net she cast and how she passed information to them through their wives.”
“She was . . . is . . . cunning. And deeply sad. Her grief, that bottomless, abiding grief, allowed her to justify unspeakable things.”
Quill abandoned Calico’s right foot and took up the left. He was rewarded by her heartfelt sigh. “Do you ever wonder if she murdered her husband?”
Calico’s head snapped up. She stared at him. “You, too?”
He nodded. “It was what we overheard her say about blowing up the Number 3 mine, that it should have been her husband’s tomb. It started me thinking that given what he suffered, it would have been understandable if she wished he had died there. He might have thought the same thing. He might have encouraged her.”
“And he might not have. I would not be too quick to look for a reason to excuse her behavior.”
“Not excuse. Understand.”
