And then, in the cruelest of Fate’s tricks, with only a few weeks left in the trip, Robert had been crushed by one of the wagons in the small train as he and the other men struggled to repair it.
And just like that everything was gone. Taken. Taken from her. And from Abigail. They had put everything they’d had into that journey. It had lasted longer than they’d thought it would. It had cost more than they had thought it would. They hadn’t factored in Abigail. There was nothing left, and Paulette and Abigail were alone on the West Coast, thousands of miles away from any family or help. There was no way to go backward. There was only forward, and she wasn’t sure how to go about moving in that direction.
Paulette worried on her lower lip. She’d been doing it a lot lately. There were so many things to worry about, and working her teeth against her lip made it easier to forget that she had forgone the last two meals because she’d needed to buy milk for Abigail.
She was running out of things to trade. If she wasn’t careful, the only thing she’d have left to barter was her body.
She stared down into her sweet baby’s face. Abigail’s eyes were closed, her lashes little smudges of light brown wisps against the cream and peach of her face, her mouth working in her sleep, the littlest burst of a contented sigh escaping her as she burrowed one fist more tightly into her cheek.
It couldn’t come to that. She knew prostitution only led to one place — illness and death. And without ever making it out of poverty, no doubt. She wouldn’t leave Abigail to that fate. With no one to raise her she would end up the same way, and that simply wasn’t an option. Paulette wouldn’t have it.
But then, what were the options? She could look for work as a scullery maid or a house keeper, but Abigail would complicate things there as well. She had failed as a producer, so wet nursing was equally improbable. To darn or wash she would need to be settled in a place where she could bring in work. And this wasn’t a place filled with people looking for that kind of work.
Of course, prostitutes were in fairly high demand here, miners on their own in their little caves most of the nights. Lonely. Frustrated.
Yes, the prostitutes were quite popular here.
She went back to chewing on her lip.
She was running out of time. Time and options. If she waited much longer, there would be nothing left. There would be no choices for her at all.
The wagon train had fractured from her, thrilled with their good fortune at having finally made it to their destination. They muted their joy when they were near her, conscientious of the fact that there was little joy to be had for her here, but nonetheless, they spilled from the group and off into their lives, little waves and that annoying jaunt to their step Paulette had tried to ignore.
And Paulette was left behind, the little town barely a street wide or long, offering little to her.
Chapter Two
When Zed awoke he was alone, the dull throb across the back of his shoulders and head reminded him that he had been hit with something very hard. With a groan, he pulled himself up, taking a moment to regain his feet and let the world settle into an uncomfortable equilibrium. He was angered by the attack, frustrated by how easily overcome he had been. Shame and disgust flared inside of him.
He raised a hand gingerly to the back of his head, exploring the tender flesh there, looking for more than just a knot. But his fingers came back bloodless, and he was thankful the men hadn’t been more successful with their attack. It was bad enough to have been a victim – he didn't want to imagine what it would feel like to have been significantly wounded in the process.
He scowled into the blackness, unsure how much time had passed since he’d been intercepted, unsure why they had attacked him just to leave him where he lay.
He’d seen just one face, out of the corner of his eye, before that block of wood had connected with the back of his head. The miner with the full beard streaked with blonde and white.
The man tickled something at the back of Zed's mind, like he recalled a time a similar man had put him on edge, had eyed him suspiciously. He had overheard him telling the others that Zed was a cheat who kept the best of the mountain to himself. He couldn't remember the miner’s name or where to find him, but he was certain those impressions all stemmed from the same man, and he wouldn't have been surprised to learn a man like that was behind such an attack.
Zed wasn't a cheat, despite what that man said, despite the grumbling he had heard from others. Everything he did was by the book, designed to give the miners what they paid for. Though, it was true, he supposed, that he kept the best of the mountain to himself. The mountain was, after all, his. Had always been his. The gold had always been his. Always. And here he had so generously let them have some of it. For a fee. But, even so. It wasn’t theirs to have.
Every step jarred his skull in a way that made him think he wasn’t going to make it out of the office in the morning. But he wouldn’t know how bad it was until he made it inside and could examine himself in the light. See if anything was missing.
But this night he had had nothing on him to take. His key slid into the lock, popping open the mechanism and flung the door open, not caring when the heavy pine bounced back off the wall, clattering loudly in the relative quiet of the early morning. Not caring, until a painful throbbing immediately set in the back of his skull.
His watch was gone, he realized when he went to pull it from his pocket and check the time. They hadn’t gone away empty-handed after all. Bastards. Zed knew not every miner was a problem, but those certainly were. He would ferret them out – he had to if he wanted to be able to remain in relative safety, if he wanted to be able to maintain the delicate facade he had made for himself.
It hadn’t been the first time he’d been singled out by men, and Zed was pretty sure it wouldn’t be the last. That miner had an evil edge to him, an extra mean glint in his eyes — he wasn’t going to stop until he was stopped. Zed had enough experience with humans to know that was the case.
But stopping him was something Zed was willing to do. The time would come, he had no doubt, where it would be just him and that miner… and Zed hadn’t lost yet.
The morning came early, and as Zed had expected, he wasn’t fit to start his day when he normally did.
He slept little. Most of his kind were the same. They could certainly hibernate, but mostly nights were short. Rests were brief. Their recharge was intense.
He lingered on the small sofa, his head still throbbing, every movement a fresh reminder that he hadn’t been on top of his game the night before. That was what happened when you allowed yourself to live closely to the humans.
Anger welled within him. He did not like to be made a fool of, and being assaulted on the mountain, giving no resistance, achieving no damage, falling to the ground like a felled tree, certainly counted as being made a fool.
That man’s face was etched in his mind. He would know him the next time he saw him. There would be no mistaking him in the future, and there would be hell to pay then. That miner would live to feel Zed’s wrath.
And would live not much beyond that.
It was obvious that Zed’s current system wasn’t working. He couldn’t keep traipsing back and forth between the office and the mountainside He needed a better way to keep tabs on his hoard while still managing the office. What he really needed was a person to work the office while he kept his days and nights up on the mountainside.
Yes, as the morning sun began to bleed into the muted light of afternoon, he was determined he would hire someone to sit behind the desk, to field the needs back at the office, and he would be able to go on almost as he had before this had all started — when it had just been him and his hoard, and that beautiful mountainside, untainted by the humans and their own special brand of greed.
There was no choice, she reminded herself again, the word becoming ugly and monstrous in her head. She had never had any choice — why should this be any different.
She paused in fro
nt of the little building with the embossed Broker sign hanging above the door.
If anyone could point her in the right direction for a boarding house or work, it would be the town broker. She took one more deep breath of resolution, held Abigail close to her heart, and swung the door open.
Zed was making his way through a stack of papers he had absolutely no interest in dealing with when she stepped through the door. Her hair was swept back under one of those oversized bonnets the women seemed to feel were in fashion, but he could see pale strands of hair peeking out from beneath.
“Hello,” she said, taking a moment to look around the room.
He nodded, his expression tight. “Good afternoon.” He paused in his paper shuffling, suddenly feeling awkward and unprepared.
He dealt mostly with men. Mostly with men who had a very clear agenda, and wasted no time or politeness when coming to him. Their interactions were strictly centered on business. There was no need for pleasantries. Straightforward. Easy. There was no decoding, no second-guessing.
This woman was different. She seemed to hesitate just inside the door, to waffle between one thing and another, though Zed had yet to figure out what those things she was torn between might be.
She was studying the floor when she said, “I was wondering if you might know anyone who’s employing? Or a boarding house in the area?” She took a deep breath, seemed to hold it, like she needed to know the answer and wasn't sure she could handle the response.
He gave her a hard look. Her faded skirt. Her worn boots.
She was just what he needed.
“Well,” he said, setting down the stack of papers and propping his hands on the desk, leaning forward toward her. “It just so happens I need someone in this office here, during business hours so I can maintain the mine sites up the mountain.
She seemed to perk up, like a freshly watered plant, color easing back through her and she took another step toward him. For the first time, he noticed the infant she held cradled to her chest. “Do you read? Write?” he asked, gesturing to one of the simple chairs for her to sit. “Not necessary, but it may be beneficial.”
She took the seat, and Zed had the distinct impression she needed rest more than she should have. She nodded. “I know my letters.”
“Wonderful,” he said. How fortuitous that she should show up in his office looking for work directly after he’d decided such a position was the solution to his problems. He brought a hand to the back of his head, where it still throbbed from the attack. “When would you like to start?”
“Well, immediately would be good. I mean,” she corrected, “I have no other obligations, so am available to start as soon as you are ready to have me start.” She was playing with the hem of her sleeve, betraying her anxiety. It didn’t escape his notice.
“Immediately is what I need. Now, you mentioned needing a boarding space? For you and the baby only?” Zed wasn’t sure why it mattered, but somehow, he realized, it did.
He had been thinking about the little two bedroom he maintained in the town. The perfect size for the woman and the child. He could already picture them there, making that house their home.
She nodded. “Just the two of us.”
Her eyes had become dark, somber, and Zed was sure there was more to her story she wasn’t ready to share.
“I have just the place.” He remembered he was supposed to smile, that it was considered customary and polite, so he made the effort. “If you’re free, we can take a walk down there now and you can see if it will suit your needs.” He wanted her to say yes. The more time he spent with her, the more time he was sure he needed to spend with her.
He moved, stepping out from behind the desk and toward the door, swinging it wide. The woman was right behind him, the baby still sleeping against her bosom, close enough now that her sweet, fresh scent drifted toward him. He felt a new tingle at the back of his neck, one unrelated to the dull ache that seemed to have taken up permanent residence there. One he couldn’t place.
“Zedekiah Martín,” he said, realizing belatedly that he had yet to introduce himself to her, and that he had no idea of her name either.
“Paulette Johnson,” she said in return, allowing him to take her hand for a brief moment. “And this is Abigail.” She tipped the baby toward him, so he had a clear shot of her sleeping face.
He tore his eyes away from the child. “So nice to meet you both. I can’t say what great timing you have to come by today. I was just thinking how much I needed someone to help me out around here; the commute was becoming too much.”
The commute was many things — tedious, annoying, dangerous, apparently — but Zed had never considered it ‘too much’ in the past. What he needed was a way to spend more hours in the mine. More hours with his hoard. Less hours here, dealing with the minutia his business as a broker demanded. Less hours pretending to be what society expected him to be. But this way, perhaps he could scale his visits back to town to once or twice a week. If he could find a way to convince the townspeople he was just like they were even though he spent little time in the town, he could conceivably come back even less.
Things were falling into place.
She followed him down the street and toward the little house. He maintained it because it was what people expected from someone like him. A person who expected to work in the community, to be received by the community, had to live in the community as well. As it was, he had a hard time being accepted by the others. He needed all the help he could get. Though, in truth, when he was in town he spent his nights in the office, prowling, waiting for the moments he could be back in his true home. He was never at ease, always looking toward the mountain and the open sky.
The door unlocked easily, like it had been just waiting for someone just like Paulette. He pushed it wide, ushering Paulette and Abigail into the little house in front of him.
It was neat and clean, with few furnishings, and looked decidedly unlived in, but even so, it was more than Paulette could have imagined having just a few hours earlier. She had gone from having nothing but her name and her child, to having a job and a place to live, and she was beyond grateful for that.
“This will be perfect,” she said, turning toward Zed, her eyes bright with something like relief and excitement.
Zed nodded. He was captivated by them, their very color, like the color of the ocean where it met the sky, at once bright and bottomless. “Very well,” he said, clearing his throat and trying to convince himself that she was just a woman. Just a human, like any other. There was nothing special about her. “We’ll work it into your compensation. I’ll draw some papers up and get you settled in the office and then I’ll be on my way.” He was already moving toward the door. Even when feet separated them, when they were too far from one another for him to actually see her eyes, he could remember them, their shape, that color, the emotion in them.
Burned in his mind.
He couldn’t wait to get out of there. The room seemed much too small, like there wasn’t enough space for the three of them there.
But at the same time, he realized he was dragging his feet. They should have already left the house. There was nothing left to see. He should have pointed her down the street to the woman he knew spent her days watching other people’s children. But instead he was standing there in the small room, watching Paulette as she walked around its perimeter, poking her head through the doorways and into the other rooms, running her hands along the wood walls, the back of the chairs.
She was compelling, in her way. Every move she made was swift and delicate, tentative and sure at once. He knew with certainty he could spend all day watching her.
He gave his head a shake. Women were not something he spent his time thinking about. He had no use for them, and they certainly had no use for him. This woman would be no different, he assured himself. Whatever was happening to him when she was close could be controlled.
“Are you ready?” he asked, and his voice was hard and straine
d, and even to his own ears sounded angrier and more aggressive than he had intended.
But if she was put off by his words or tone she did nothing to suggest so, just turned toward him, her smile radiant, and said. “Yes, quite ready,” before crossing the room toward him.
Chapter Three
He wasn’t sure when or how it had happened, exactly, but somewhere between leaving the house and arriving at the office, Zed had gone from feeling that having this woman as a tenant and employee was the best plan of action, to thinking that what he really needed was a woman who could be portrayed as his wife.
Yes, that was what he really needed. An employee, a tenant — those things were nice. They would help his cause, certainly. But the best case scenario would be if he had a wife. Not just a wife— Paulette.
In name only, of course. He wasn’t looking for anything other than a woman the world would perceive as his mate. Another little checkmark they could place next to his name. Just your every day, average broker who happened to be a little eccentric and spent the bulk of his time meandering through the mines. An instant family.
Now, he wasn’t as good at the whole human thing as he probably should have been. He’d spent many years away, and to be honest he hadn’t missed humanity much while he was gone. Even with him limited experience, he didn’t expect Paulette would jump at his offer.
He was still mulling over the best way to approach the topic when he shut the door behind him, closing the two of them off from the rest of the world; the perfect time for the conversation he knew he had to have.
“So, Paulette,” he said, trying to source every ounce of gentility, every bit of finesse he had. He just hoped he had enough in him to pull off the proposal. “Tell me about how you came to be here.”
Her shoes. Her dress. Her hair. Even her name marked her as East Coast. Zed didn’t have a lot of experience over there — in fact he predated the existence of the area and had never been — but he saw many of those New Englanders slip through the town, soulless after their journey, weighted by the seen and unseen, burdened by what was in front of them as well as what they had left behind.
Bears of Burden: HUTCH Page 47
