Serena’s attention was drawn back to her driving as an open victoria with a coachman on the box came toward her. Sitting bolt upright on the velvet seats was a grande dame in gray lace and ermine, a leader of what passed for society in Cripple Creek. She owned the most prestigious house on Eaton Avenue, but in between meetings of the Ladies’ Aid, the Poetry Club, and various other interests, spent her time in trying to persuade her husband to remove to the more civilized atmosphere of Colorado Springs or Denver.
Serena kept to the close right of the narrow dirt street. She put her shoulders back and readied a smile in case she should be recognized. The other woman stared at her vehicle with high arched brows and narrowed eyes that missed nothing of Serena’s costume or her luxurious furs. Face frozen, she deliberately turned her head, staring at the back of her driver.
It was a cut; there could be no doubt about that. Amusement curved Serena’s mouth. So much for Nathan’s assumption that she would be accepted. Surprisingly, it mattered not at all. She had rather enjoyed the woman’s raised eyebrows. Well, perhaps heliotrope crepe glinting with jet beads was a trifle over-ornamental for Cripple Creek. Not much, mind; the dressmaker had asserted that just such a gown had been worn by the lady who had cut the ribbon opening the Columbian Exposition. But perhaps a little. That was fine. Serena found that she enjoyed being a little outré. She might even take up ostentation for a style. That would give everyone something to talk about; the girl from Myers Avenue flaunting her wealthy position.
It was strange, the effect of money. It changed people. Or maybe it didn’t. Maybe like strong liquor it only served to bring out what was already there inside them.
She was tired, and her arms ached from the constant pull. She wasn’t as strong as she had thought. As the sun mounted overhead, it grew warmer. The fur coat was too heavy. Shifting the reins to one hand, she slipped one arm from the sleeve, then, transferring the reins again, she freed the other. The horses must have tired finally also. They did not swerve as she completed her maneuver with her coat, but kept a straight path up the hill toward Bristlecone.
The carriage rattled over the wooden bridge that crossed the creek and swept along the straightaway. It rounded a curve and topped a hill. From the crest Serena could see the turrets of the house, though she would lose sight of them again as she reached the bottom. She was nearly home. Only a few more minutes and she would see the stone arch of the gateway.
On her left was Mt. Pisgah. As she glanced at it a cloud covered the sun, making a large dark patch of shadow on the side of the mountain. The cloud shadow moved, inching toward the carriage. For no reason Serena could think of, she shivered, and turned her gaze back to the haunches of her horses with the muscles moving in perfect unison.
Above their steady clip-clop came another sound. It was the pounding hooves of a horse being ridden fast. It was an unusual occurrence on this road. Most riders tried to pace their mounts for the steep hills ahead, between here and Florissant.
Serena glanced at the man on horseback as he flashed past her. Her head came up. Before she had time for more, Otto Bruin had pulled his horse in close to the heads of her team and leaned to grab the left bridle strap, jerking viciously at their tender mouths, hauling them to a stop with brutal force.
The look on the man’s face was ugly; the smile that bared his yellow teeth held cruel triumph. Serena slipped her hand beneath the linen driving apron to touch her purse, feeling the solid outline of the pistol inside. Inwardly she cursed the gloves that made her fingers clumsy.
“What do you think you are doing?” she demanded in icy fury.
“What does it look like?” he growled over his shoulder. “Get down from there.”
Serena tugged at the clasp of her purse, but she needed both hands. “I will not! You must be crazy!”
“You git your purty little ass down from there or I’ll take this here knife and slit the gullets of this fine pair of horses. If I do that, I won’t have to stand here and hold ‘em; I can come back there and haul you down right and proper.”
With a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, Serena watched as he pulled out a large pocket knife and opened it with his teeth. He jockeyed his horse around, then with a sly look in her direction touched the blade to the neck of the near gray. Blood welled, running over the shining gray coat in a thick stream. The horse backed with a shrill whinny throwing up his head, but he could not escape the hard grip that held him.
“Don’t!” Serena cried sharply. “I’ll get down.” Throwing back the driving apron, keeping her purse in her hand, she stretched one foot shod in fine leather down to the step, and jumped lightly to the road.
“That’s right smart of you. A good horse is hard to come by.”
“Spare me your attempts at humor, if you please,” Serena snapped. “What is it you want?”
Instead of answering, Otto swung from the saddle. Taking the tether of her team, he picked up a fair-sized rock and, holding the leather strap to the ground, set the piece of granite on top of it. His own reins he left trailing in the dirt as a ground tether. Ducking under his horse’s neck, he lurched toward her.
“You will answer to Nathan Benedict for this! Don’t think I won’t tell him.” Serena backed away a step. The clasp was open on her purse.
“Tell ‘im anything you want. It’ll be too late then. I’ll have tore off my piece of your tail and be long gone. That’s something I been meaning to get me for a long while now, and this time there ain’t nobody to stop me!”
He lunged to catch her arms, his hard, hurtful fingers gouging, pressing the jet beads on her sleeves into her skin. “Wait,” Serena said, forcing a sob of horror only half pretended into her voice.
“Wait, nothing,” he growled, dragging her against him.
His fetid breath was in her face, his hot, wet lips rubbery as they slid over her cheek. Serena twisted in his grasp to keep her mouth clear. “Wait,” she panted. “I’ll give you anything you want. My jewelry. Money. I have money—”
“I don’t want your money,” he muttered thickly. “I want you spread out naked. I want—”
There was more, but Serena closed her mind to it. “I have money—” she repeated, digging her hand into her purse. Her questing fingers touched the pistol, felt the handle smooth under her hand. He was dragging her closer like a great carrion-eating bear. The side of the phaeton was at her back, and she could feel the humping motions Otto made with his hips as he dug the hard lump of his manhood into her thigh. He shifted one hand to her breast, squeezing the tender globe so that waves of pain rose to her head.
“Over there, in the grass,” he blubbered against her neck.
“All — all right,” she gasped, her eyes closed.
As his hold loosened for an instant, her fingers tightened on the pistol, her forefinger slipped inside the trigger guard. Without trying to pull it free of the purse, she pulled back the hammer, turned the short barrel against his chest, and pressed the trigger.
The gun exploded with a roar that echoed against the mountainsides. Otto was thrown from her as if flung by a giant hand. A red splotch appeared on his shirtfront and a look of astonishment on his face. He struck the ground with his arms outstretched and boneless. Rolling over, he came to rest face down.
The horses plunged and whinnied. The carriage backed and pulled forward before the grays settled down. The livery-stable hack of Otto’s reared, dragging his reins loose, then galloped off a few yards before coming to a stand with his muscles quivering.
Serena was trembling also. Staring down at the purse in her hand, she saw a great hole in one corner. From it trailed a gray-blue ribbon of gunsmoke. The acrid smell hung in the air, catching sharply in the bark of her throat. She took a few quick steps into fresh air, breathing deep. After a moment, she turned and put her purse up on the seat of the phaeton. The horses were still disturbed. With a frown of concentration between her brows, she went to their heads and stood stroking them, talking in a low, soothing voice.
Otto lay still, unmoving. Serena glanced at him, then looked away again, her face grim. The dirt of the road beneath his chest was turning dark in a spreading stain. She should do something, as much as it went against the grain. With a final rub to the left gray’s nose, she moved toward the fallen man.
She was kneeling with her hand on his shoulder when she heard hoofbeats once more. She glanced up quickly. What should she do? It seemed doubtful that Nathan’s position could protect her from a charge of murder. She could plead attempted rape, but where was the evidence, the witnesses? Her past would count against her. It would seem ridiculous to speak of such an assault concerning a woman who had come from Myers Avenue, especially in connection with a man, it could be demonstrated, she had known well, if not intimately. Who would believe self-defense in such a case?
There was no time to do anything. A rider topped the hill and came bearing down upon her. As he drew closer, Serena rose to her feet. He reined to a halt in a spray of gravel, swinging from the saddle in the same fluid movement.
“Serena,” Ward said, “are you all right?”
“Yes,” she answered, her tone matter-of-fact.
He approached her warily, his green gaze narrowed on her pale face. “What happened here?”
“Otto stopped my carriage. He — he meant to — I shot him.”
“You’re not hurt?”
Serena shook her head.
“You’re sure?”
Serena sent him an irritated stare. “I’m sure!”
A faint smile crossed his face. “Good. Is he dead, or did you botch the job?”
“I’m not certain. I think he’s dead.” Her voice was a trifle unsteady on the last word. To cover it, she cleared her throat.
“Let’s see,” Ward said, turning his keen gaze from her to the man lying in the road. With a hard shove, he turned Otto to his back, feeling under his shirt.
“Well?” Serena asked.
“He seems dead enough.” Ward wiped his hand on his trousers.
Serena turned away, catching at the side of the phaeton. Ward got to his feet and came to stand beside her.
“Don’t take it so hard. If anybody needed killing, he did.”
“I — I never killed anybody before.”
“I should hope not. But as I said, if you had to do it, this was a good place to start.”
She thought he made a gesture, as though he meant to take her in his arms. If so, he did not complete it. Swinging away, he looked up and down-the road.
“We can’t stand here all day,” he said, his voice rough and impatient. “The next person to come along may not take so kindly to this bit of mayhem you’ve committed.”
“How did you — -come to — happen to come along, I mean?”
“I saw you in town, saw Otto ride out right behind you, I didn’t much like the look of it, so I decided to trot along behind. I might have been a little closer if that idiot at the livery stable hadn’t been out in the corral. I really put the spurs to that misbegotten beast I was riding when I heard the shot.”
“I see. It was good of you to be concerned,” she said, her voice prim, though there was a warm gladness inside her.
Ward glanced from her to the fur coat on the seat of the shiny, silver-trimmed phaeton. “I couldn’t let anything happen to the wife of my best friend.”
Serena’s chin came up at the lash of sarcasm in his tone. “I’m sure Nathan will thank you,” she said.
“So he should,” Ward snapped, “but he won’t have much reason if you get yourself arrested for murder. I suggest you climb back in that fancy rig of yours and light out for home. Now!”
His gaze rested on her face a moment, then raked down over the heliotrope-and-black costume she was wearing to the great gleaming sapphire on her finger. He swung sharply away, moving toward his horse.
“What about the body?” she called after him.
“Never mind the body. Just get going.”
“But we can’t leave him here.”
“I don’t intend to,” he answered, swinging into his saddle. “If you must know, I’m going to catch his horse and cart him over to the creek. I’ll hide him there until dark, then there’s an abandoned mine shaft I know that’s nice and deep. By the time anybody finds him, if they ever do, it’ll be too late to connect him with you. Now get going.”
“Yes. I — thank you, Ward.” Hurriedly, without looking at him, Serena stepped onto the step and swung up into the phaeton.
He guided his horse to where he sat even with her upon the carriage seat. Leaning on the saddle horn, he said, “Save your thanks, Serena. I don’t want them. I prefer a more tangible reward.”
“What do you mean?” she asked on an indrawn breath.
She received no answer. Ward touched the broad-brimmed hat he wore with one finger, kicked his horse into movement, and loped off after Otto’s mount grazing a short distance away.
Slowly, Serena gathered up the reins, unwinding them from the whipstock. Her lips compressed, she set the grays in motion. The sun came out from behind the cloud, shining bright and clear. A breeze fanned about her, feeling good on her flushed face. She had nearly stopped shaking, the reaction routed by the anger and puzzlement that crowded her mind.
Just before she rounded a bend and the dark green of spruce trees hid the scene behind her from sight, she turned. Otto lay sprawled in the road, his arms outflung. Off to the right, Ward had come to a halt. He sat on his horse, a still and solitary figure, staring after her.
17
Dinner was an interminable meal. Since Serena had gone out that morning, Mrs. Anson had taken it as an indication that she was ready to begin a normal pattern of living. She had elected to open up the dining room again. Serena would much have preferred a tray in her room as usual, with Nathan perhaps looking in afterward for coffee. She decided to let the arrangement stand, however. It was better than giving rise to questions concerning her motives. She was aware that she had already given enough cause in that line.
When she had reached Bristlecone at last that morning, she had refused luncheon and retreated to her room. She had tried to rest, but had been unable to compose herself enough to sleep. Pacing or standing long moments staring into the fire had not relieved her feelings, nor could she erase the image of Otto, lying sprawled in the road with his shirtfront stained red, from her mind. Nevertheless, she was perfectly capable of holding up her end of any conversation, and of enduring until the coffee was served and she could retire for the night. Serena had not counted on Mrs. Anson’s solicitous attempts to persuade her to eat. The housekeeper was fearful she had made a mistake in her suggestion they have the evening meal downstairs, and afraid also that Serena had overestimated her strength. In her concern, she glanced often at Serena’s pale face above the rose crepe of her gown, and hovered over her, offering dish after dish. Serena took a little of this and a little of that, pushing it about on her plate until the course was removed. She could not bring herself to eat more than a bite, something that did not escape the housekeeper’s notice.
“You aren’t eating, madam. Perhaps the menu isn’t to your liking? Is there anything I can bring you from the kitchen that might tempt you?”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Anson. I’m just not hungry.” There was a trace of strain in Serena’s tone as she answered.
Nathan looked up. “Are you feeling well, Serena?”
“Yes, fine,” she answered, her lips tightening at the cornets.
“I hope you didn’t overtire yourself this morning. You were recovering so nicely.”
“I — perhaps a little.” It was better to admit that much than to have him probe for some other cause for her lack of appetite. From the corner of her eye she saw the housekeeper slip from the room. There was satisfaction in the look on her face now that Nathan’s attention had been centered on his wife.
“I wish you had told me you felt like an outing. I would have been happy to drive you.”
“I’m sure you
would, Nathan. It was an impulse, that’s all.”
“I would rather you took someone with you in the future.”
Serena sent him a long glance. “That hardly seems necessary.”
“I’m not so sure. I’m told one of the grays was injured while you were out, cut on the neck.”
“I hope it wasn’t a bad injury. I really couldn’t tell.”
“Nothing that can’t be cured with a few applications of Fleming’s Healing Oil, they tell me.”
“I’m glad. I — -I’m not sure how it came about,” Serena said, looking down at her plate, drawing up her shawl that had slipped off her shoulder. “It must have been when the fire signal sounded. There was a good bit of confusion and people crowding into the streets. At one time I was surrounded.”
“I heard the shots while I was in town,” Nathan said, nodding. “My point is that the same kind of rowdies who would do such a thing to a fine horse would not hesitate to commit worse acts, especially against a woman alone.”
“I understand that, but I don’t like having my activities curtailed.”
Nathan started to speak, then thought better of it. Seeing the grim set of his mouth, Serena was reminded that he was aware of how close Ward had kept her at one time. Was consideration such as this ever to be arising between them? There seemed no help for it.
Finally he said, “I wish you would be guided by me in this, Serena. I don’t ask it for selfish reasons, but out of my concern for your safety.”
“Are you positive it isn’t a matter of propriety?” Something inside her seemed to drive her to be contrary. She picked up her water glass and found her hand was trembling so the crystal rim clinked against her teeth.
What would Nathan say if he knew she had killed Otto? Would he say good riddance, like Ward? Or would he insist on lodging a full report with the police? It was the prospect of the last that held Serena silent. Nathan, she had discovered, was an extremely conventional man. He might seek his entertainment on Myers Avenue, he might have his mistress, or take for his wife a woman somewhat less than pure, but that did not alter his position as a man of standing in the community. He preferred that on the surface at least, his life conform to the tenets laid down by his circle of acquaintances, his peers. For now, that meant the society of the mining elite in the district and its environs. In keeping with that attitude, he might well go to the authorities, not simply to report the death, but to protest the lack of protection by the sheriff that had allowed such an attack to be made against his wife. The results would be the same; questions, embarrassment, and the specter, in spite of Nathan’s influence, of prosecution. No, she could not tell him.
Love and Adventure Collection - Part 2 Page 120
