by Caroline Lee
As she hustled back and forth from the kitchen to the bar to the patrons, she blew strands of hair out of her eyes. She was exhausted, especially after her morning spent shoveling snow, but she couldn’t have been any happier. Especially after Quint came downstairs—he’d been up there reading one of Cinco’s stories to the kid—and sent another wink her way.
He loved her?
That’s what he’d said that afternoon, but had it just been empty words, possibly just a heat of the moment thing?
No, the way he’d smiled at her, the way he’d kissed her, that’d been the truth. And she'd noticed the little sheepish look in his eyes right after he’d blurted out the words, and knew he hadn’t meant to say them, which made them all the sweeter.
They’d spent the remainder of the afternoon in the back alley, where she’d challenged him to a shooting competition and wagered another kiss. He’d been a good loser, and had been properly impressed with her skill.
Finnie had experienced a moment of dread when she wondered if maybe she should have pretended not to be such an accomplished shooter; after all, it wasn’t just anyone who could’ve made the shot which freed Hart from that lynching, and she prayed Quint wouldn’t guess she was one of the few who were capable.
If she were lucky, the Black Ace would now just be a thing in her past. Her future, she hoped, would be full of laughter and teasing, shooting contests, and working together with Quint to teach Cinco what he needed to learn. And then, soon—if the people of Black Aces got their shit together and didn’t still need a masked vigilante saving their asses any longer—she could actually think about maybe planning a future with Quint.
And telling him she loved him too.
Whew.
Maybe she could even talk him into helping her out when things got crazy in the saloon, much like it was that very night.
As if he’d sensed her need, Quint crossed the room to stand beside her.
“How can I help?” he asked in that low voice of his.
Her gaze automatically went to his lips, and once he noticed that, his lips stretched into a very pleased grin indeed. She grinned back at him in response—tiredly—and thought about the way those lips had tasted just a short while before. How they’d made her feel.
How much more she wanted to feel.
“Here, take these to the Blakes,” she commanded, thrusting two bowls into his hands. “Might not be as tasty as Abigail’s used to, but she’ll probably enjoy not having to cook tonight.”
He inclined his head in deference without dropping her gaze. “Yes, ma’am,” he said with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Let me know what else I can do to help.”
She brushed off his offer with a wave. “Go mingle. Chat. Get to know everyone. I’ll be back.”
“Alright. Maybe I can gather more information about the strangely absent Black Ace.”
His words caused her heart to lurch.
“Maybe,” she managed to choke.
In the kitchen, she breathed deeply as she spooned another bowl of the stew. Quint was just doing his job, and she hadn’t been the Ace very often. Except for that encounter with him, few had seen her, and no one knew her identity. She was safe.
Plastering her smile back on, she bumped the door open as she hurried towards the far wall. She glanced at the bar, making sure no one was impatient for service, before heading towards the only stranger in the saloon. He’d arrived before Christmas, and in spite of the blizzard, everyone now knew he was an investor representative from back east, here to do business with Mr. King.
“Here you go, Mr. Douglas,” she said warily as she placed the bowl on the table in front of him.
“Thank you.” His voice was light, calm, as if he had no worries. Maybe a man with so much money didn’t have worries. “How much do I owe you?”
She eyed his tailored suit, the graceful way he sat with his legs crossed showing off his fine shoes, and the expensive hat on the table beside him. “Fifty cents?”
He pulled his billfold from his coat pocket, flipped it open, and peeled a ten-dollar bill from a pile. Without speaking, he handed it to her.
Ten dollars? She couldn’t help her smile. He might come from the same world as Mr. King, but anyone who was this generous, definitely wasn’t cut from the same cloth.
“Thank you, sir. I’ll bring a whiskey right over.”
“Before you do, Miss Finnie, could you answer a question for me?”
“Sure.” She glanced back at the bar, relieved to see no one was waiting. She hadn’t expected a chat with the Easterner, but for what he just paid, she could afford to be polite. “What do you need?”
Douglas lifted one long finger and flicked it towards one of the poker tables. “That small, mousy-looking gentleman over there? I just overheard him spreading the most interesting tale.”
Surprised, Finnie frowned when she realized who he’d met. “That’s Millard Caplan. He used to be the town's assayer, worked mainly for the Bicycle. Now he works for King.” She hadn’t realized any of King’s cronies were in her saloon tonight. “What’s he been saying?”
“Hmm? Oh, nothing important, I’m sure,” Douglas said dismissively, reaching for his spoon. “I believe Mr. King introduced us, but I wanted to be certain.”
She had plenty of things she should be doing, including refilling her patrons' whiskey. But since she was standing here, having a conversation with the man…
“Mr. Douglas?” She blurted out, then winced. “I’m sorry to keep bothering you, but the mine…”
She wasn’t sure how to say it, but the man needed to know. He was sitting there, the spoon raised halfway to his mouth, a polite expression on his face. She took a deep breath and hoped she wasn’t making an enemy.
“The Bicycle Mine and Mr. King…things ain’t exactly as they seem, sir.”
His head inclined regally, but his eyes were hard when he murmured, “Indeed, Miss Finnie. I am aware.”
She nodded and backed away, feeling as if she’d dodged a bullet. Did he know about the empty mining camp and empty mine? She wasn’t sure, but she didn’t want to be around the strange man any longer. Turning, she hurried back towards the bar.
She kept her eye on him as she served her neighbors, but the man didn’t do anything other than eat his food and eye the men around him. Her heart wasn’t as light as it had been, and as often as she caught her gaze slipping to Quint, she found herself spending just as much time eyeing Millard Caplan as well.
Just what was he doing here?
He was moving from group to group and appeared agitated as hell.
Finally, he made his way to the bar, and from the slump of his shoulders, she thought he looked dejected. He propped his elbows on the bar, and despite her distaste for serving anyone who worked for King, she was still a businesswoman. Reaching for a glass, she poured him a drink.
“You look tired. Here,” she offered grudgingly, promising herself she wouldn’t make it a habit to welcome King’s men in the High Stakes.
“Thanks,” he croaked, his voice sounding as if he’d been using it more than usual. He took a big drink, then smacked his lips and cleared his throat. “Ah, that’s better.”
There wasn’t anyone else up at the bar who needed attention, or who was even looking her way. She scanned the room, and everyone seemed happy to chat with their friends and neighbors. There wasn’t a single person she could use as an excuse to leave Millard, and besides, she hadn't gotten this far in her business by being rude. So she stifled a sigh and made conversation.
“So what brings you in tonight, Millard?”
The man’s already-dour face fell further. “Spreading rumors. Which I may regret when Mr. King finds a new assayer.” His gaze dropped to the depths of his empty glass. “Not that I think that’ll be his problem too much longer,” he muttered.
Well, wasn’t that intriguing? Finnie tipped the bottle once more, refilling his glass. “What kinda rumors?”
“True ones.” Millard drank agai
n. “I’ve been…”
When he trailed off, Finnie decided to keep her mouth shut in order to see what would happen. Sure enough, the man soon turned an anguished expression her way. He took a deep breath, and before she knew it, an interesting confession seemed to explode out of him.
“I’ve been trying to reach the Black Ace. I know it’s not—” He shook his head. “I mean, I have a pretty strong suspicion it’s a new Ace these days, since Hart’s hanging—” His hand was shaking as he reached for his glass. “I mean, it don’t matter. But what King’s doing, I figured the Ace needed to know. I’ve been spreading it around, what I know, but no one is helping…”
Finnie figured her brows couldn’t creep any higher into her hairline. Millard Caplan wanted to find the Black Ace? He was a supporter of the Ace? All this time, he’d been working for King, so whatever was going on must be something big.
She lowered her voice and leaned towards him. “What’s going on, Millard?”
The little man took another deep breath. “King is pretty pissed at Gomez for poisoning that coffee, and at the marshal for not allowing McNelis to arrest him on suspicion. So the plan is to send O’Grady with two men to the store—tonight—and rob the place.” He lifted the glass to his lips, but before he drank it, he rushed the rest of his confession. “And kill Gomez.”
Finnie’s lips formed a curse, her eyes wide. “When?” she whispered.
He shrugged and lowered the empty glass to the bar top. “Tonight is all I know. Gotta be late though, right? After this place closes.”
Already, her mind was working furiously, planning. “You told all these people what you just told me?” She jerked her chin to the crowds. “And no one said anything?”
“Like what?”
“Well, like maybe, ‘Hell boys, let’s go show that Mr. King he can’t do that to Gomez,’ would be nice.”
Millard smirked and shook his head sadly. “There was plenty of muttering, but they ain’t stood up to King yet, not really. And they sure don't look as if they'll be starting tonight.”
Damn. Finnie released her breath. She’d been betting on the townspeople for so long, it felt wrong to discover she’d lost. They weren’t going to band together to protect Gomez, one of their own?
They were leaving the job to the Black Ace.
Millard shrugged. “I didn’t expect anything different, honestly. I figure they’re leaving things up to the Ace.”
Hearing him repeat her sentiments made Finnie wince. The energy, the excitement she’d been feeling earlier, all leaked out of her in a single sigh of frustration.
She wanted to be done as the Ace. She wanted to move on with her life, possibly think about a future with a good and honorable man.
Well tough shit, little girl.
There was a job which needed doing, and despite her best efforts, the town wasn’t going to do it.
It was up to her.
“Is… Does Gomez know?” she asked in a tight whisper.
Millard nodded. “Went there first. He and the missus are holing up in the old boarding house for the night. He wanted to stay and protect his store, and he might still go back, but his wife was pretty determined to keep him safe.”
Stiffly, Finnie nodded. “You didn’t tell King where Gomez was hiding, did you?” O’Grady could just as easily head to the boarding house.”
Swaying a little, Millard Caplan leaned across the bar and speared her with an angry look. “I’m about to lose my job to keep a man safe, Miss Finnie. I’m not, nor have I ever really been, one of King’s men.”
The little man seemed so intense, there was nothing else Finnie could do except nod. Had he really been working against King?
“Now…” Millard leaned back. “What do I owe you for the whiskey?”
The man had risked his job, and possibly his life, to come in here and spread enough rumors with the sole purpose of reaching the Black Ace’s ear. She shook her head distractedly. “No charge, Millard,” she whispered.
He went back to drinking, and she moved on to the next man who waved for a refill, then started to clear the supper dishes. But the whole time she was planning, anticipating. And when Quint caught her eye and winked, she hastily looked away.
Earlier, she’d been Finnie Pompey and falling in love with a good man.
Tonight, whether she liked it or not, she’d become the Black Ace once more.
13
Shoveling out the town, teaching Cinco to shoot, working for the evening…and still more to do. Finnie reached for Quint’s old boots, a sense of dread settling in her stomach.
What if she was too late to stop O’Grady? What if Millard was wrong? What if this wasn’t the last time she’d have to don the Ace disguise?
Stop it, girl.
She knew she was just thinking worst-case scenario because she’d been disappointed by Millard’s news and the townspeople’s lack of interest.
She stood and stomped her feet to settle the boots, then froze, listening for any noise from the room next door. After Quint’s wounding, she hadn’t thought anything of taking his boots instead of throwing them out as he’d asked. They fit her well enough, just as she’d said, and they worked well for the Ace, while her own boots were too obvious. And it wasn’t as if she wore them all the time, mostly just when she was doing heavy work outside like shoveling snow. She hadn’t expected him to recognize the damn things, but had played it off alright, she thought.
Hearing nothing from next door, she next checked in on Cinco to assure herself the kid was asleep. It had been natural to lean over him and brush a kiss across his brow, the way she remembered her ma doing so many years ago.
This is it, she promised herself. After tonight, she’d do her damnedest to figure out how to stop these midnight shenanigans, and be the kind of mother Cinco deserved.
Yeah.
She took a deep breath, grabbed her rifle, and eased open her door. Earlier today—showing off and laughing and challenging Quint to a shooting contest—that had been the best use of this Winchester. She didn’t usually bring it along as the Ace, but tonight, she just might need it.
Once outside, the whole town looked peaceful. There was heavy cloud cover which hid some of the moon’s light, but amplified what was left, bouncing it off the snow, so there were weird shadows and odd patches of light all over. The whole town seemed decorated in shades of black and gray.
Merry Christmas.
She almost snorted to herself as she pulled her duster tighter and checked to ensure her bandana was still in place. She was doing this for Gomez, a good man who didn’t deserve King’s wrath. She’d been the one to “poison” the coffee, and even if the man was safe, it was up to her to protect his store.
She crept from shadow to shadow, using the techniques she’d perfected weeks ago. She kept her movement slow and steady, her heart pounding as she watched for O’Grady and the others.
There!
In the shadows beside the assayer’s office, she froze, sure she’d seen movement in the darkness across the way. Yes, she was sure that was a glint of metal.
What…?
The man wasn’t being as careful in his movements as she was, and soon his face caught a sliver of light. Finnie reared back as she recognized the man.
Millard?
What was he doing here?
Nothing, apparently, except watching the store.
It was several long minutes later before she shook herself, and began her steady creep towards Gomez’s store once more, questions still filling her mind.
Why would he be out here? Was he a lookout for King after all? Or was he trying to protect the store himself?
When another burst of movement caught her eye, she froze again. This time the identification took longer, but she let out a breath when she realized it was Charlie Wilson. He crouched behind a water barrel, his attention also on Gomez’s store in the distance.
Were there others?
A sudden realization made her heart leap: I�
�m not alone.
All her efforts to get this town to band together and stand up to King hadn’t been in vain. No one had seemed interested in Millard’s story, but at least one man had decided to do something about it. She prayed there were more.
But she couldn’t bet on it. The stakes were high tonight, and she needed to lend what support she could.
She drifted past shadows in the alley, knowing she was leaving footprints, but hoping they’d be confused with all the others of the day, until she reached the store. She crouched in the darkness behind the back porch where Gomez used to leave little notes for the Black Ace, and waited.
And waited.
The rigors of the day finally caught up with her, and she eventually fell asleep there, sitting on her own heels, her head pillowed against the rough planks of wood behind her. The sound of horses jerked her back to awareness, but thank God she didn’t stand up or anything.
Three animals thundered into the alley near her, not even trying to be subtle about things. The first man swung down, and Finnie recognized him as Tim O’Grady, one of King’s goons. He was lazy as hell, but had a mean streak he didn’t mind indulging, if it wasn’t too much work.
And it looked like tonight was his night.
“Alright, boys, you know the plan: Make it look good, and send Mr. King’s message.”
The two others were new to King’s organization, but Finnie recognized Nelvin Erstwhile and Ziggy Zagarowitz as guards from the empty mine camp. Both were grizzled and looked ready to chew off their mothers’ faces for a five-dollar bill.
A Fin. Her lips twitched wryly.
All three of them had guns strapped to their belts, but hadn’t drawn them. No, for this job they'd need different tools.
And just as she'd expected, they each pulled down cudgels from their saddle boots. When O’Grady flicked a match into light, she saw him grin cruelly.
“Windows first, boys, then grab what you want.”
Reflexively, Finnie’s gloved fingers tightened around her rifle stock. She’d brought it tonight because she wasn’t sure how to stop O’Grady. And now, seeing them here, ready to do their evil deed, just as Millard had said, she still wasn’t sure.
