Grath’s high-pitched laugh set Emily’s teeth on edge, and again she looked outside for Silas.
Then two hands grabbed her overall straps and Nigel’s stubbly face was in hers. “But you ain’t sayin’ nothin’ to Hughes about this, Miss Britches, ‘cause you’re smart. And you ain’t givin’ McClanahan any clues either. Got it?”
Emily grabbed her hat as he banged her against the back of her chair. How did he know Emily Burnham hadn’t hired Matt, unless—
“I better see you nod that tomboy head, or you’ll be the next one to disappear. Understand me?” Grath demanded.
She swallowed hard, nodding.
“That’s better.” He released her with a shove and looked at the papers on the desk. “Now where’s the payroll sheet? I’m signin’ in for my shift tomorrow.”
Emily stared. Surely he didn’t expect her to—
“Find it, dammit! And you don’t know nothin’ if Hughes comes sniffin’ around, wonderin’ where I’m at. Right?”
Hands quaking, she hastily wrote the next day’s date across the top of a fresh page and handed it to him. As he scrawled his name on line, she wondered how he intended
to find Matt. But she knew from experience that the obnoxious little man had a maniac’s instinct of how to inflict the worst harm with the least effort.
“You’re smarter than you look, Miss Britches. And you’ll keep this to yourself—unless you’d like dynamite shoved up your butt, like McClanahan’s gonna get.”
Emily watched him walk to the building where the men changed their clothes before they left the mine. She wanted to run and find Silas, but the little weasel was probably poised around a corner, waiting for her to do just that. So she gripped the seat of her chair, staring frantically at the filing cabinets. Had Papa’s killer been under her nose the whole time she’d been in Cripple Creek? Had Grath been dropping hints about the murder all along, and she’d been too infatuated with McClanahan to notice that he’d figured out who she was?
In a flash of inspiration, Emily pulled the May payroll files from the cabinet. Her finger shook as she ran it down past the names listed for Saturday the seventh, the night Papa was shot in cold blood.
Nigel Grath hadn’t reported for work that day. Or the following Monday, either.
That evening Emily fidgeted in her room. She felt numb and dirty, despite the bath she’d taken when she got home. Idaho knew something was desperately wrong, because she’d barely touched her baked ham and yams. And she expected Silas to come upstairs any minute, demanding an explanation for her unsociable behavior.
But what if she didn’t tell Hughes about Nigel Grath’s plan? There was no doubt in her mind that the ferretlike blaster would find McClanahan and follow through with the threat on his life. She had to warn Matt, yet she sensed Nigel would find that out—and who would know Grath had shot Papa if he killed her, too?
Idaho’s clear tenor echoed downstairs in the vestibule. “Why, good evening, Mr. Matt! Good to see you back. Mr. Silas is in the study.”
He was alive! Emily hopped off her bed and smoothed her pale green dress. She dabbed perfume behind her ears, then pulled her hair back with a green ribbon before hurrying down the stairs.
When she peeked into the study, Silas was seated at the desk and Matt’s profile was toward her. They were talking quietly over cigars, but Emily couldn’t contain her relief. Grinning, she rushed over to hug McClanahan. “How was your trip? What’d you find out?” she gushed.
Matt looked at her as though she’d interrupted something terribly important. “Not much. As you said, the Sundance Kid spends most of his time rustling farther west. I did clear up one mystery, though.”
“What’s that?” she asked in a deflated voice.
McClanahan smiled wryly. “Longbaugh stole your horse from my herd. His lines looked awfully familiar, and my records confirm that a palomino yearling came up missing a couple years ago.”
Emily stared at him, her heart pounding into her throat. “Well, you can’t have him back!”
“I wouldn’t think of taking him. You need a good mount, and he’s found a devoted mistress.”
“And you’ll be riding him to Phantom Canyon tomorrow,” Silas stated quietly.
Emily looked from one man to the other, wondering what they’d been plotting while she was upstairs. Phantom Canyon was a few miles south, winding from Victor to Florence, and one ride between its high, eerie cliffs had convinced her never to go back.
“I heard a disturbing rumor today,” the mine superintendent continued. “Somebody’s planning to sabotage the tracks of the Florence and Cripple Creek Railroad, and McClanahan needs your help in spotting any evidence of explosives. It’ll get you both away from the Angel Claire while I—what’s wrong, Emily?”
The blood was draining from her face, and she thought her knees might buckle at any moment.
“Maybe you’d better sit down,” McClanahan suggested. He rose to help her, but she shoved his hands away.
“Grath came into the office today, saying he’d blow you sky-high,” she began in a tiny voice. “Somehow he knows I didn’t really hire you. He—he signed the ledger for tomorrow, but he won’t be there. He was absent when Papa was shot, too.”
Silas leaned on the desk, frowning at her. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”
“Because if word gets out, he promised to come after me,” she exclaimed. She gazed at McClanahan’s virile face, overwhelmed by the thought that Nigel Grath could’ve blown him to bits and she would never have seen him again. “Matt, I thought he’d kill you before I could warn you! He kept saying—”
McClanahan gripped her hands. His eyes softened somewhat, but he remained exasperatingly cool. “You know how Grath shoots off his mouth, Emily. But we’ll approach this very carefully.” Glancing at Silas, he added, “We should ride to Victor separately, and meet at the mouth of the canyon.”
“This could be a trap, McClanahan,” Hughes warned.
“We can’t afford not to check the rumors out. Trains run through there several times a day and hundreds of lives are at stake.” He turned back to Emily, his eyes as expressionless as a dead man’s. “Better go on up to bed now. You’ll need to get an early start.”
Chapter Ten
As the first rays of dawn peeked through the overcast sky, Emily slowed Sundance to a trot. Her heart was torn in two: as cold as Matt was last night, she didn’t relish spending long hours searching Phantom Canyon with him. But with McClanahan’s life and countless others on the line, she couldn’t refuse to help him. She scanned the winding grades and railroad tracks that led down into the canyon for a familiar bay gelding and his rider.
Bob bob WHITE!
McClanahan waved from a clump of trees. He showed no sign of a smile, and Emily sensed it would be an endless day.
Matt glanced at the gear tied behind her saddle. “Slicker, canteen, bedroll…think we’ll need all that?”
Emily shrugged, noting his identical equipment. “If we have to search the whole forty miles of track, it’ll be dark before we get home. I’d rather camp than have Sundance lose his footing on these rocky ridges.”
McClanahan nodded as his horse fell into step with hers. The Special made it through this morning, so nothing’s been blown up yet. What are we looking for, besides signs that the ground has been disturbed?”
“Stray blasting caps, scraps of fuse.” Emily gazed along the rocky edge of the narrow-gauge track, but nothing seemed out of place. “We should also watch for little tunnels that hold dynamite—probably in the sides
of the hills under the track.”
“I don’t guess we’ll spot anything obvious, like a detonator box or wires.”
She snorted. “Grath’s a pro. We could patrol this canyon for days and not see a sign of him until he makes us into confetti. He could tie explosives to a trestle five minutes before a train crossed and we’d never catch him.”
Matt slowed Arapaho to study his side of the track. �
��For all we know, he’s watching us right now.”
“You think I wore Eliza’s mine outfit because I like it?” Emily glanced around, goosebumps rising on her neck when the wind whistled through a nearby rock formation. “He could be behind any one of those boulders or trees. This place gives me the willies anyway. Feels…haunted.”
They were descending into a narrow gulch that ran between high, rugged bluffs. Scraggly trees clung to the cliffs, their roots reaching out of the rock like bony fingers. Oddly-shaped boulders were perched atop the canyon walls like sentinels, silent and disapproving. Above them, thunder clouds gathered in ominous clumps. Emily concentrated on the ground around the tracks. Was someone sneaking along behind them, or was she hearing the echo of their own horses’ hooves?
“Better move over to the creek. Train’s coming,” McClanahan said quietly.
They dismounted and allowed the animals to drink from a stream that gurgled through the canyon. Emily felt tremors running up her legs, and a deep rumble filled the gulch several moments before the locomotive came into view. Steam belched out of its smokestack while car after car clacked past them. The passengers seemed blissfully unaware of the potential hazard of being blasted to kingdom come. As the train disappeared around a bend, the man on the caboose waved to them.
“They didn’t even thank us for trying to save their lives,” Matt commented wryly.
Emily gave him a smile that felt tacked on. McClanahan was acting very polite—which was precisely what bothered her. What had she done to turn him from a passionate lover into a man who behaved as though she were the tomboyish Eliza? Perhaps her body hadn’t pleased him at all…maybe he’d only been interested in claiming her virginity, like a hunter prized an antelope’s rack on his wall. As the hours dragged by, Emily became increasingly aware that Sunday afternoon’s lovemaking wouldn’t be repeated. McClanahan had stolen her heart and her honor, and she hadn’t mounted even a token defense.
As the oppressive narrows gave way to more hills, Emily felt compelled to look back. Was someone following them, concealed behind those trees, or in that abandoned shack? Or was her imagination working overtime, spurred on by a growling stomach and a tired bottom?
Up ahead, the tracks ran along a narrow ridge between two deep ravines, where jagged rocks warned them not to lose their footing. McClanahan fell in behind her, his eyes scanning the stony ground. Emily was ready to quip about needles in haystacks, just to hear a voice, when she spotted something. “Whoa, Sundance. You stand still, fella, while I take a look at this.”
“What’d you find?”
“Loose dirt…some holes.” As she slid out of the saddle, large raindrops splattered around her. There were barely two feet of earth on either side of the track, so Emily knelt and eased her feet slowly over the edge of the gulch. McClanahan joined her, sending a parade of pebbles down the hill as he looked over her shoulder.
“He must’ve gotten interrupted. These are the three foundation holes,” she said as her finger traced a rough triangle between the openings. “They explode first, and when these two edger holes blow, the dynamite in this top position cuts loose. There’s supposed to be another hole below this formation, to give the whole explosion a final boost.”
McClanahan gripped a railroad tie and knocked against the hard ground. “He’s a persistent sucker. It took hours to do this much work without a drill.”
Emily let out a humorless chuckle. “Grath’s a man with a plan. An explosion here would send the train tumbling down into the ravine, and it’d take weeks to reconstruct the track.”
“Just what I was thinking.”
He scowled and began scrambling up the bank behind her. “Train’s coming!” he yelled. “Let’s get the hell out of here!”
Startled, Emily lost her footing and fell flat. The metal rail shook as she gripped it to pull herself up. She’d heard the rumble, too—thought it was thunder—but the steady roar belonged to the smoking black engine that was speeding around the bend toward them, only yards away.
When Matt tried to grab her shoulders he was nearly knocked off balance, because the horses were skittering around him, their nostrils flaring.
“Run for it!” Emily hollered as she clambered onto the track. “You’ve got to go first to get out of my way!”
McClanahan mounted his gelding, trying to coax Sundance to turn around, too, but the ridge was so narrow he couldn’t get close enough to reach the palomino’s reins. He swore, wheeling Arapaho in a tight circle.
As the train’s whistle blasted and its brakes squealed, Emily swung onto Sundance. He balked, but as her hands closed over the reins he pivoted and galloped after Arapaho. She clung to his neck, praying he wouldn’t trip over a tie as they raced toward a spot wide enough to stand on. The engine was directly behind them now, making the ground quake and piercing Emily’s head with a thundering cacophony that came straight from hell. They seemed to be traveling in slow motion, as in a nightmare where her pursuer was gaining…gaining…
And then she was beside McClanahan. The horses huddled together in the rain, their backsides against the rugged cliff as they shrank away from the screaming locomotive. Boxcar followed boxcar, producing a deafening racket. Sundance was stamping nervously, tossing his head to avoid the flying sparks from the wheels, so she leaned on his wet neck. “Whoa, boy…easy now,” she murmured as she clutched him. “Settle down, it’s almost over.”
When the caboose clattered by, it took Emily a moment to adjust to the quiet.
“Honey, are you all right?” Matt’s eyes stung as he gripped her arm. Her hat and shirt were soaked, and he wasn’t sure if she was shaking with cold or fright.
Emily let out the breath she’d been holding, and suddenly she was laughing so hard her stomach hurt. She wasn’t sure why, but it was as uncontrollable as the raindrops that drenched her face.
“What’s so funny?” McClanahan asked cautiously. Was she hysterical? He thought about slapping her out of it, but he was afraid she’d fall off her horse.
“I—I guess I’m too damn scared to cry!” Emily took a shuddery breath, wiping her face with a soaked sleeve.
McClanahan pulled her as close as their shifting horses would allow. “I was afraid I’d get off the track just in time to see you rolling down the ravine with Sundance on top of you. Jesus—Emily—” He kissed her fiercely, trying to force the near-tragedy out of his mind as the train’s whistle faded into the distance.
Emily tasted desperation in the welcome warmth of his lips, yet she pulled away. “What is this?” she challenged. “Last night you acted as though you didn’t even know me. And for three days I worried about what I’d done, because you left without even—”
“If I’d allowed myself to touch you, I would’ve been a lost cause, honey,” Matt pleaded. “It’s been hard enough to keep my mind on the tracks and rocks today, riding along beside you. And in front of Silas—”
“You’re not keeping any big secret. He knows about us.” Matt’s jaw dropped, and judging from his expression, she could’ve knocked him off Arapaho with one finger.
“You told him? Emily, you—”
“I didn’t have to. It announced itself.” For a moment there were only Matt’s startled blue eyes and the steady patter of rain. Then Emily chuckled. “After you took me home from Pisgah, Silas said I looked like a strumpet parading on Myers Avenue.”
“Hughes said that?” He laughed and wrapped his arm around her again. “You were pretty free with it, but—”
“Me? I was only following—”
“—the happiness you gave me was something money can’t buy from the most talented lover,” Matt whispered. “And I’m glad you’re mine, honey.”
The raw emotion in his voice made her head spin. But was McClanahan declaring his love, or claiming her as his whore? “You—you just wanted to be the first to—”
“You know that’s not true, Emily. All you had to say was no.”
Matt’s pained expression pierced her he
art, and she looked away. “Sorry. I—I’ve eaten a lot of my words lately.”
McClanahan smiled. She looked so young and vulnerable he had an overwhelming urge to protect her forever, but ideas like that were premature. “We’re soaked,” he murmured after he kissed her again. “Let’s go back to that cabin till it quits raining.”
In a few minutes Arapaho and Sundance were scaling a wooded hill toward a dilapidated shack. Emily carried their gear inside while Matt unsaddled the horses.
The door creaked and a small animal scurried out the broken window as she entered the cabin. It had probably been a miner’s home at one time, as there was a rough table in front of the fireplace. Rusted springs and a bedstead rested against one wall, and a few wooden kegs stood in the corner.
“How is it?” McClanahan asked as he brought the saddles inside.
“Drier than we are. Cold, though.” She hugged herself to keep her teeth from chattering as she looked around the shack’s rough, shadowy interior.
He dropped his load in the corner, grinning. “Bet I can stoke your furnace, young lady.”
“But there’s no mattress, and the floor’s such a mess—”
She was silenced by a lingering kiss as Matt wrapped his arms around her. “When a man needs a woman this badly, hell improvise,” he murmured. “Honey, it tore me up to think I might not hold you again. Can you understand why I want to love you right this minute?”
Emily nodded, unable to look away from eyes that glowed with desire in the gray light from the window. Death had breathed down both their necks: the same fear that had made her laugh uncontrollably was prompting Matt to reaffirm a life force that had flowed between lovers since the beginning of time. Emily held him tightly, stroking his strong, wet back as his kiss made her insides melt. He wanted her…had never stopped wanting her.
“We’d better get you out of these soaked overalls,” McClanahan teased as he plucked her soggy hat off. When he unfastened her straps, she shivered. “There’s wood piled out back, and we can wrap up in our blankets while our clothes dry by the fire,” he suggested. “But first, well start a few sparks of our own.”
Colorado Captive Page 10
