Chapter Eight
“Whoa, boy. I’ll see if I can find us some company.” Matt tied his horse to the post in front of Silas’s house and gave the animal an affectionate slap on the rump.
As he walked toward Elliott Burnham’s Cripple Creek residence, he noted its resemblance to the Golden Rose: both structures were large and cream-colored, with intricate gingerbread trim on the gables. The Rose had stained-glass panels in a gold floral design around its double doors, and Burnham’s house had a geometric pattern in greens and blues. A few years back, McClanahan might’ve had a similar home built for himself, but now he saw no reason for such a showplace to sit empty.
He knocked, and after a few moments he heard Idaho shuffling through the vestibule. The colored man’s face lit up when he opened the door. “Mr. Matt! It’s a fine afternoon for courting, but Miss Emily’s out on her horse.”
Matt smiled. “I came for my Stetson.”
“Why, sure you did. And it’s ready, too.” With a knowing grin, the old housekeeper gestured for McClanahan to follow him.
The parlor and dining room were hushed, except for the stately ticking of the mantel clock. Once again he was impressed by Burnham’s taste—substantial mahogany furnishings, with upholstery in greens and golds. A man’s house, without the frivolous clutter that was so fashionable. “By yourself this afternoon, Idaho?”
“Yessir. Mr. Silas is at the Elks Club. When Miss Emily returned from the Rose in a stormy mood, he found a quick reason to leave.”
Matt smiled to himself, picturing the fiery eyes and flushed cheeks Clancy Donahue had undoubtedly inspired. The aroma of seasoned beef lingered in the kitchen, and the small table was covered with pages of circular charts and scribblings. “Interesting,” he said with a glance at a thick, yellowed book. “I didn’t realize you were an astrologer.”
“I play at it. Used to tell fortunes in the bunkhouse when I was a single man.” Idaho let out a long sigh. “But after I married Viry, I found better ways to pass the time.”
McClanahan nodded. “I hope we find the man who shot her—and soon.”
“Yessir. Too late to do me much good, but it’ll help Miss Emily settle herself.” Looking at the topmost chart, he pointed a gnarled finger. “This lunar progression to Mars indicates ambition and a tendency to take risks. But the way Emily’s other planets line up, I’m guessing it’ll be a month or two before Mr. Elliott’s killer gets snared.”
“You think so?” He saw worry lurking in the old man’s eyes, and hoped his prediction was overly cautious.
“Astrology’s like the Bible—everybody has his own interpretation,” Idaho explained. “Miss Emily’s chart shows Venus in Scorpio, too, which means she’s highly passionate and emotional. Can’t argue with that.”
“No, I don’t guess we can,” McClanahan said with a laugh.
“She needs a steadying hand now, Mr. Matt. Don’t let her get attached to you unless you mean to make it permanent, or you’ll both be sorry. I’ll get your hat.” Idaho opened a door and started down the cellar stairs with an uneven shuffle and a grunt.
While he waited, McClanahan looked at the elaborate charts, which were crisscrossed with lines and symbols he didn’t understand. The tattered old book was written in English, yet meaningless to him. He didn’t put much store in horoscopes, but he sensed Pearce had a feel for things that went beyond the average man’s perception. Even so, he planned to catch the murderer much sooner than Idaho had predicted.
When the old Negro handed him his hat, he stroked the felt and sniffed it. “Mmm…quite an improvement.”
“Yessir. Pine oil corrects a lot of faults.” Idaho chuckled, running a finger around the Stetson’s rim. “That’s a mighty fine hat, Mr. Matt. Suits you better than it does Miss Emily.”
“I’m surprised she’d try it on, after the way she threw it around last Saturday night.”
“She’s been ornery since she was a baby.” Idaho shook his head with an indulgent smile as he closed the cellar door. “Miss Emily was born early, and when we lost her mama, Mr. Elliott swore his little girl would be raised tough. He had her on horseback before she could walk—taught her things about ranching and account keeping. But I guess you know she’s smart that way, without me bragging.”
Matt smiled. “You have a right to be proud. You and Viry get a lot of the credit for raising her.”
“Miss Emily was the light of our lives after Miss Claire passed away,” the cook said reverently. “Viry couldn’t have babies, and she loved that little golden-haired girl like her own. Couldn’t usually make her behave like a rich man’s daughter should, but we tried.”
The old man shuffled over to the coffeepot, questioning Matt with misty eyes. McClanahan nodded and changed the subject. “So if you were a ranch hand at one time, how’d you end up keeping house?”
“I wasn’t just a hand—I was the foreman,” Idaho answered proudly. “Best horse trainer Mr. Elliott ever had, too. And when you’re herding, or branding, or driving a thousand head of cattle to market, your horses have to respond to the slightest touch.”
Matt grunted appreciatively. “What happened?”
“Damned if I know for sure, Mr. Matt. One minute I was riding fence to see where some cows were getting out, and the next I was on the ground with my horse raring on top of me.” He set two cups of steaming coffee on the table, then eased into a chair. “Broke my leg in three places, and I had to shoot the mare. If Mr. Elliott hadn’t come along when he did, I would’ve been breakfast for the buzzards.”
McClanahan scowled. “It’s not like a good horse to turn on her trainer. Any diseases or infections passing through the other livestock?”
“No, sir. We thought she got into some locoweed—but damned if we know where.” His brown eyes clouded, as though he had some theories he didn’t want to talk about. “Mr. Elliott moved me to the house so Viry could look after me, but the leg was never the same. I figured he’d put me out when he saw I wouldn’t spend another day in the saddle. But Mr. Elliott wasn’t that kind of man”
“So you helped your wife?”
Idaho nodded. “Did the gardening, too, and the repairs around the ranch. It’s good Viry taught me such things—a man could go crazy without useful work. Miss Emily’s the only reason I have to hang on now.”
“She needs you, too, Idaho,” Matt answered quietly.
“Yessir, she does.” His face lit up, and he crossed the kitchen to take a basket from one of the cabinets. “She doesn’t always listen, though—like when I told her my charts predicted this would be a fine day for romance? Steamed as she was when she got back from the Rose, she called that pure nonsense.”
Matt laughed and watched him slice some roast beef onto a plate. “Do you believe it?”
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
He smiled as Idaho wrapped cornbread muffins in a linen napkin, sliced some pumpkin pie, then tucked the food into a basket with a bottle of wine. “I got what I came after, so I guess I’ll be going—”
“Take this lunch and her shawl. Miss Emily was too upset to eat, and she’ll take a chill when the sun sets.”
McClanahan slipped his hat on, fighting a grin. “What makes you think I’m planning to see her?”
“Doesn’t take an astrologer to read the stars in those eyes of yours, Mr. Matt.”
From her grassy seat on the side of Mount Pisgah, Emily looked out over the vast beauty of the autumn landscape. Golden aspens shimmered in the afternoon sun. Crimson sumac and the deep green shadows of the pine groves soothed her as nothing else could, and in the distance, a dusky haze settled at the base of the Cascades. She was still in her uniform—and still angry at Clancy—but the breeze coaxed a smile to her face. Emily wiggled her bare toes in the grass. Then she swung her braid over her shoulder and began to unwrap it.
Why were her emotions in such a tangle these days? Was it loneliness for Papa that made her temper flare at the least provocation? It was dangerous, this anger: she c
ould reveal her identity while fighting with Donahue as easily as he might betray her out of spite. At the ranch she’d never argued with anyone, yet now she was snapping at Idaho and ordering Silas around as though he were a servant. A surge of misplaced hatred had nearly killed Matt McClanahan—and the next moment she’d been kissing him, her heart pounding for an entirely different reason. It didn’t make sense. Not to a girl who’d been taught to bide her time and let her opponents make the foolish, impulsive mistakes.
Emily shook her hair over her shoulder, letting the wind’s fingers comb its ridges. She felt like herself now—free, as she did at the Flaming B. Smiling, she recalled how Matt had wanted to unbraid her hair…and he seemed able to do something about Papa’s killer. But who was he?
Her thoughts wandered back over everything she knew about the handsome newcomer. Then she blinked and looked up from the columbine she was holding. There it was again: bob bob WHITE.
Sundance was nickering, his bronze ears pointed toward visitors. Then she saw Matt McClanahan leading a spirited bay gelding up the hillside, carrying a basket and her shawl. He grinned and adjusted his hat. “Didn’t mean to startle you. You were miles away.”
“You do a pretty good quail.” Emily smiled, hugging her knees. “I come up here to think, when I need to be
alone.”
“I’ll leave, if you want.”
“No, no—I’d hate to spoil Idaho’s plans.” She patted the grass beside her, and when McClanahan was seated, she pulled the thick packets of food from the basket. “You’d better join me. He didn’t send all this just for me.”
McClanahan chuckled and coaxed the cork from the green wine bottle. “I’ve got the distinct impression that Idaho’d do anything in the world for Miss Emily. He did a nice job cleaning my hat, too.”
With a giggle, Emily plucked the brown Stetson from his head and placed it on her own. It was much too big, but Matt was enjoying her playfulness, so she left it on. Thinking the afternoon had suddenly become wonderful, she split one of the tender muffins and offered Matt half.
“Hard to believe a horse trainer can bake this way,” Matt murmured as he bit into it.
“Viry was a good teacher. They had the happiest marriage I ever saw…but Idaho’s new job made a few of the hands jealous,” she replied in a faraway voice. “They didn’t think he deserved a foreman’s pay for doing woman’s work. Especially since he’s colored.”
Matt looked into her tawny eyes as he considered this information. “Did Clancy feel that way, too?”
“He was one of the worst,” she replied. She tore into a slice of beef to relieve the anger she felt whenever she thought about the Irish bartender. “And he’s not much different now—thinks he should be living with Silas instead of in the attic at the Rose. I told him he could certainly afford a hotel room, but he didn’t see it that way. Couldn’t wander into his choice of women’s bedrooms whenever he felt like it.”
McClanahan chuckled at her barbed tone, and he couldn’t resist tucking a stray lock of her warm, golden hair back over her shoulder. “And what did he do this morning to get you so fired up, Miss Burnham?”
“He claims someone stole his extra cash last night.”
Matt thought back to the elite crowd who’d celebrated Victoria’s birthday, frowning. “It was in plain sight behind the bar when I left.”
She snorted and sipped some wine. “The fool thinks I’m too stupid to see through him—thinks I’d actually consider marrying him.” Emily glanced at the pumpkin pie, but tipped the green bottle to her mouth instead. “Dumbest thing I ever did, letting him work at the Rose. Silas would never have recommended such an uncivilized beast for that job, and Miss Victoria’s going to figure that out pretty soon. I should’ve—”
“You should ease up on that wine. And on yourself.” Matt took the bottle, and after recalling Idaho’s warning about letting Emily get too attached to him, he draped his arm around her anyway. “You’ve shouldered a helluva load since your father was shot—anyone in your situation could make a few mistakes. And I can certainly understand why Clancy wants to marry you.”
Emily almost made a sarcastic remark, but the warmth of his arm was working its magic on her. She gazed into eyes the color of columbines, hoping McClanahan would understand her doubts and fears. “After tagging along with Papa all my life, doing pretty much what I’ve wanted to, I’m not sure I’m suited to housewifery,” she admitted. “I certainly couldn’t resign myself to being a man’s slave.”
Matt smiled, admiring her innocent independence. “You make marriage sound like a prison sentence, Emily. Not all men are as rough around the edges as Donahue.”
“Not many are like Papa, either.” She settled against him, sighing. “Mama’d been gone ten years when he bought the mine, yet he named it for her…still gazed at her portrait in the parlor when he was alone.”
“You’re luckier than most women, honey. You can afford to wait for a man you love.” McClanahan let his hand drift down her back, knowing suitors would swarm to her door when Elliott Burnham’s murder was solved and she came out of mourning. Would she still share her picnics—and her thoughts—with him then?
Emily smiled up at him. “There’s no doubt in my mind I can oversee Papa’s holdings; he’s hired top-notch managers. But what comfort will his money be after we’ve caught his killer, when I’m alone?”
Matt wanted to vow that he’d be there for her—that she’d never spend another lonely day—but it was too soon. And as though she were reading his thoughts, Emily stood up. She smoothed her uniform, gazing toward lilac streaks of sunset as she walked over to the horses.
“You’ve got a fine-looking mount, McClanahan,” she said as she stroked the animal’s glossy black mane.
“Arapaho’s got good lines, but I like your palomino’s conformation, too.” He got up to join her, studying the gold gelding with a trained eye. “Was he a present from your papa?”
“No,” she said with a grin, “he was a gift from the most notorious man I ever met. Right, Sundance?”
“Sundance? Harry Longbaugh gave you this horse?” McClanahan stroked the palomino’s firm flesh with increasing interest, biting back a smile.
“Papa met him on one of his real estate trips,” Emily explained. “He mentioned that I loved to ride, and a few weeks later the Sundance Kid came to our ranch.”
“And while Longbaugh was sweet-talking you, the rest of Cassidy’s gang were probably rustling your father’s stock.” He scowled, and then looked over at her. “Do you suppose one of them came back to kill him?”
“I thought of that, but it doesn’t make sense,” she replied. “He gave me this horse nearly two years ago, and since then he and Butch have been busy holding up banks and trains farther west.”
McClanahan chuckled. “So you knew the horse was stolen?”
“We didn’t question him about it.” Matt was studying her intently, but she couldn’t tell if it was her horse or her moral character he was more interested in. “I had a feeling Papa did him some sort of favor, so I couldn’t very well refuse his token of appreciation, could I?”
“Not to mention his attentions,” Matt replied with raised eyebrows. “Is he as handsome as they say?”
“In a horsey sort of way.” She shrugged, a secret smile curving her lips. “Hard to believe such an interesting man could be a hard-boiled outlaw.”
“You were too taken in by his looks to think about his livelihood, sweetheart.”
Emily laughed and grabbed his hand. “No need to be jealous, McClanahan. His eyes aren’t nearly as blue as yours.”
Matt fought the urge to kiss her impish grin. Barefoot, with his hat cocked over her mischievous eyes, Emily Burnham was the most playful temptress he’d ever met. He squeezed her hand, ready to tell her so, but a distant, reedy bellowing interrupted him. The buglelike sound echoed around the mountains, followed by loud grunts and clatterings.
“Look—those elk are rutting.” Emily stared, winci
ng each time the two huge bodies collided below them. “You’d think they’d be killed, battering each other so fiercely.”
“That’s nature’s way of making sure only the fittest bulls breed. The winner of this fight’ll spend the next few weeks servicing his harem—might even die from all that mating.” McClanahan chuckled low in his throat. “What a way to go, huh?”
“Reminds me of Donahue, rutting and strutting,” she mumbled. Emily shielded her eyes from the brilliant sunset, thinking how strong McClanahan’s hand felt around hers. “I know you can’t pay a lot of attention to me in public, Matt…but you won’t let Clancy force me into anything, will you?”
Her wistful tone left him defenseless. Matt pulled her into his arms, kissing her ravenously until the immediate need for her touch was satisfied. Emily’s lips were warm and full, and she was clinging to him as though she’d never let go. When she came up for air, he had to catch her to keep her from staggering backward.
“I—I shouldn’t have made such a forward remark,” she stammered. “The wine must’ve gone to my head.”
“Is that all that’s affecting you?” he teased.
“You know better, McClanahan.” When she lowered his head to kiss him again, his hands followed the curve of her hips up past her waist, and then fitted themselves around her breasts. Other men who’d fondled her had gotten slapped, but Emily leaned into Matt’s caress. Her pulse was galloping as his tongue danced around hers.
“Emily…honey, this is more than I can stand,” he murmured. Idaho’s instincts were right, and he couldn’t keep Emily’s identity a secret if he allowed this to continue. But with her firm young body rubbing his in all the right places, McClanahan was speeding toward the point of no return.
She led him toward the spot where their abandoned picnic lay. Then Emily removed the Stetson and coaxed Matt down into the cool grass beside her, caressing his rugged chest with inquisitive hands. His eyes were shining with a desire that matched her own, and she smiled shyly. “Are you going to make love to me now?”
Her wide-eyed naiveté threatened the last shreds of his resolve. “I…I’m not sure I should,” he rasped.
Colorado Captive Page 8
