“He doesn’t have to know!” Emily insisted. “You can set your price with Silas—he’s a millionaire in his own right—and wrangle a wad from McClanahan, and make enough that you’ll never have to work another day in your life. By the time they figure out how you double-dipped, you could be anywhere you want to be! Free and clear!”
Nigel shifted his weight against her. “Sounds too easy. Must be a catch.”
“Everything’s easy for people with money and power,” she said slyly. “Easy for those men to cough up, and the easiest money you’ll ever make in your life. Think about it, Grath.”
He was still for a moment, but then his laugh came out like a whine. “Ain’t never had me a rich bitch. And the way you was takin’ it from McClanahan, it might be worth a little less cash to have my way with you, Goldilocks.”
The bottom fell out of Emily’s stomach. Grath began pinching her breasts and rubbing against her with the ardor of an excited dog. Had he seen through her scheme? Or did he doubt Silas and Matt’s willingness to cooperate? She tried pushing him away but he didn’t seem to notice—he was tearing at her uniform, and then he fumbled under her pantaloons. “Stop it!” she gasped. “I inherited everything Elliott Burnham owned, and I’ll give you whatever you want, if you’ll take your hands off me.”
Grath pulled away slightly. “Along with the money, I gotta have your guarantee of silence—plus the cash
from McClanahan and Hughes. And you cain’t never breath a word about this, to the law or nobody else, or I’ll kill you.”
If she agreed to those terms, he could blackmail her for the rest of her life. But he won’t live that long, she reasoned. He’s admitted to sabotaging the mine, and all but confessed to killing Papa…and Matt and Silas probably realize I’m missing by now. They must be on their way… “All right,” Emily murmured. “Get me out of here and I’ll—”
“Are you crazy?”
Crazy…crazy…crazy came the echo.
Grath shoved her back against the rough shaft wall. “You’re my ace, and you’re stayin’ in the hole till I get a couple notes sent. Hope Loverboy and Hughes are as anxious to see you again as you say, or it’ll get mighty damn cold down here. Now gimme your underwear.”
“What?”
“Your skivvies,” he insisted. “They’ll need proof I got you, and that purty perfume’ll have ‘em scramblin’ to the bank, thinkin’ how your ass is exposed.”
Emily hesitated, her throat tight with humiliation.
“Do I hafta take ‘em off you myself?” Nigel jeered. “Let me have ‘em—a stockin’ for Hughes and the pantaloons for Studs McClanahan.”
Holding her breath so he wouldn’t hear her whimper, she removed the garments and held them out. Grath snatched them in the darkness, and then she heard him climbing into the metal bucket. “Please—can’t you leave me a light?”
“Ain’t got one, Goldilocks. I’ll tell ‘em you’ve got no food, neither—maybe they’ll pay up first thing, insteada wastin’ time tryin’ to find you themselves.” There was a noisy creaking of pulleys. “And don’t forget,” Grath added, “the day I fetch you outta here, you’re gonna hand over your share of the money. And if I don’t get it, you’ll have no use for it either.”
When the elevator’s squeals faded, there was only the thick, damp blackness. Emily put her shoes back on
and buttoned her uniform, wondering if she’d made the right deal. She’d appealed to Grath’s deep-seated greed and saved herself from rape, but what would she suffer while she waited for someone to find her? She hadn’t had the stomach for breakfast, what with Clancy to face, and it was way past time for dinner. She was cold, and the sound of water dripping somewhere back in the cavern didn’t help. The darkness was so intense she had to touch her nose to know her hand was in front of her face. If she’d given him what he was after, maybe she’d be on her way up the tunnel…
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she muttered.
...uss...uss...uss... echoed around her like the flutter of bats’ wings.
Talking was a bad idea, so she admitted to herself that Grath probably would’ve stranded her down here even if she had given in to him. She was, after all, his ace in the hole. Emily winced at his words, and felt her way down the gritty wall until she was sitting on the damp dirt floor. To pass the time and stay warmer, she slowly unbraided her hair and combed her fingers through it.
Rat tails. Emily held her breath, listening. Was that the grinding of her own teeth, or were there rodents scratching in this abandoned pit? Too bad she hadn’t paid closer attention to the miners’ talk these past weeks; perhaps she would’ve learned how to get out of a mine shaft without any help.
Had she been here hours now, or only minutes? Her watch was useless in the inky blackness, its ticking a reminder of how deadly quiet it was at the bottom of a hole. Surely they were looking for her—Silas and Idaho had been expecting her long before this.
Her muscles were cramped from hugging her knees, so Emily stood and reached tentatively above her. If she could find the right rope, maybe her weight would be enough to bring the bucket back down here. She’d exhaust herself jumping up to grab for it over and over, but it was better than doing nothing. Even just sitting
in the bucket would be more comforting than being surrounded by borderless black oblivion…but two or three horrifying steps away from the wall sent those thoughts flying from her mind. She could fall over something and hit her head…she might stumble into another pit and never be rescued…rat tails…
Emotionally drained, Emily found the rough wall again and sat down. She wanted to sleep, but she was afraid to. She was desperately thirsty, but she wouldn’t drink the water she heard dripping even if she had the guts to go groping for it. Shivering, she pulled her knees up against her body, wondering if Papa and Viry were this cold and lonely in their graves at the ranch. Emily waited…for what, she wasn’t sure.
Rat tails.
Chapter Sixteen
Was she half asleep, or half crazy? Emily held her breath as the little squeaks got louder and louder, echoing around her in the dank, still air. Rat tails! She squeezed her eyes shut despite the darkness, tucking her skirts tightly beneath her legs. “Go away!” she whimpered. “Leave me alone, dammit!”
“Emily, are you down there? Can you hear me, honey?”
“McClanahan? Matt, hurry!” She looked up to see a pale light bobbing down the shaft, and then she stood so quickly her legs nearly collapsed beneath her. As the bucket landed with a loud thump and McClanahan scrambled toward her, Emily began to sob hysterically.
He set the lantern down and clutched her, his desperation replaced by an overwhelming urge to kiss away her fears. But Emily needed release; she was small and cold and shaking in his arms, and as her wails filled the cavern he stroked her loose hair and murmured reassuring nothings against her temple. When she was down to hitches and sniffles, he studied her tear-streaked face. “Honey, did he hurt you? If Grath so much as touched you, I’ll—”
“N-no, nothing like that.” Emily wiped her cheeks with her sleeve. “I told him you and Silas would pay more if he didn’t do anything. Lord, I thought you’d never get here!”
Matt removed his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Bad enough the bastard didn’t leave you a blanket,” he said angrily. “But to take your underwear’s about the lowest—”
“H-how much did he ask for?”
Smiling patiently, he stroked the damp hair away from her face. “I came to the mine to tell Silas that Victoria might appreciate his help for a few days. Grath was just leaving, and there were ruffles peeking out of his dinner pail. That’s how I knew something was wrong.”
Emily sneezed loudly. “So he won’t be demanding any money?”
“Nope. When he refused to tell us where you were, Silas escorted him to jail while I kept looking for you. He can’t hurt you anymore, rosebud.”
McClanahan’s endearment was suddenly sweeter, after endless hours of wo
ndering if she’d ever hear it again. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. “He knows who I am, Matt. If he shoots off his mouth—”
“Shhh…we’ll get you home now, and let Silas and the marshal worry about that. You’ve had a helluva day, Emily.” He kissed her softly, tasting salt as his lips wandered to her damp eyelids, smiling as her mouth sought his. The same hellcat who’d attacked Donahue with a poker to save his life was now clinging like a kitten, and he suddenly realized that he loved her. He helped her gently into the bucket, hesitant to say anything about his feelings just yet.
As they rose through the shaft with the lantern’s light throwing shadows around them, Emily pulled Matt’s coat tighter around her shoulders. It smelled like him—a piney, leathery pungency so different from Nigel or Clancy. “What time is it?” she asked.
“Nearly eight. It took us awhile to quiz Grath about where he’d stashed you. Your shawl was in the office, but…” In the flickering light, Matt saw how she was nipping nervously at her lip, so he stopped hauling on the rope. “What’s wrong, honey?”
Emily looked away. “I feel so stupid. Only down there ten hours and I thought it was days,” she mumbled. “Please—don’t tell Silas I was blubbering like a fool.”
“Sweetheart, even experienced miners go crazy in total darkness. During cave-ins, when they don’t know how long—”
“But he’ll think I’m not strong enough to handle Papa’s estate, or—”
With a final heave on the ropes, Matt pulled them onto the shaft’s platform and the bucket thumped to a halt. “Nobody will ever doubt your strength, Emily,” he whispered as he massaged her shoulders. “You’ll feel better after we get you home to dry clothes and a hot meal. All right?”
She nodded meekly. And as Arapaho carried them slowly through the twilit town, she let McClanahan cradle her sideways in his lap. Not used to being babied, Emily relaxed against his solid chest and savored each tender nuzzling along her forehead and brow. It had been a hell of a day, and with Grath behind bars, she could only wonder…would she lose Matt now that Papa’s killer was caught? Once she paid him for his time and help, she had no hold on him.
McClanahan escorted her into the house, where Idaho was waiting with a worried scowl. The soup he was simmering filled the downstairs with the tempting aroma of beef broth and vegetables, but Emily insisted on a hot bath first. She scrubbed her skin and scalp until she smarted all over, removing the real and imagined filth of the mine. Then she put on a long flannelette gown and a robe, and went downstairs to dry her hair in front of the oven.
Matt took the brush from her hands, his strokes firm yet tender as he lifted and shaped her long blond mane around her shoulders. He inhaled its clean sweetness and kissed the nape of her neck. “Will you be up to leaving tomorrow, or should we wait?”
“We’ll go,” she whispered. She longed to kiss him, but Idaho was shooing them to the table for soup and slices of fresh, hot bread.
“Eat some dinner now, Miss Emily,” the old black man teased. “And we’ll keep Mr. Matt busy with a big bowl, so he won’t get caught making over you when Silas comes home.”
The three of them talked quietly about the day’s events as they ate, until the mine manager strode into the dining room, studying Emily as he approached the table. “Are you sure Grath didn’t hurt you? He didn’t…”
She shook her head, blinking back tears when she saw the deep concern etched on Silas’s face.
“I’d never forgive myself if he’d laid a hand on you,” the steely-haired man continued in a hushed voice. “Damn bastard weaseled out of answering all my—”
“He knows who I am, Silas. And he all but confessed to killing Papa,” Emily said quietly.
Silas sat down hard on his chair. “Really? Why do you think—”
“He was too interested in cashing in with you and Matt to say so, but he knows too much not to have shot him.” Emily spooned up the last of her soup, feeling a luxurious sense of fullness and sleep stealing over her.
The mine manager looked cautiously at McClanahan, and then back to her. “Well, he can’t tell anyone else about you while he’s locked away. More rumors are floating around now, about how he’s sabotaged the Angel Claire. If the men think you’ve been spying on them, we’ll have a helluva time getting them to come to work, much less search for Grath’s explosives. The ranch is the best place for both of you, at least for a few days.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Matt said with a careful smile. He squeezed Emily’s slender hand under the table, hoping she’d understand why he wanted to reveal the feelings in his heart before she figured out the truth about the two men they’d put in jail today.
“What took you so long? I thought you’d stood me up,” Emily teased the next morning.
Matt smiled as he watched her tighten Sundance’s saddle girth. In the fragile light that filtered through the livery stable window, she looked rested and playful. “I figured you’d sleep in, after the day you had yesterday.”
“I’ll do my sleeping at the ranch, where the air’s clear and there’s peace and quiet.” She swung into the saddle, grinning down at him. “Then again, maybe sleep’ll be the furthest thing from my mind.”
As he mounted Arapaho, McClanahan felt a familiar tightening in his stomach. Even in overalls and a shirt, with a broad-brimmed hat similar to his own, she was every inch an Emily Rose. Being alone with her at the Flaming B was a dream come true—the perfect time to tell her how much he loved her. “You sure you wouldn’t rather take a wagon? Idaho was hinting that he’d like a few things from the ranch’s root cellar.”
“It won’t be much longer before he can go to the cellar anytime he wants.” She smiled, refusing to remind herself that these next few days might be her last with McClanahan. “Besides, it’s a perfect day to be in the saddle.”
Seeing the light in her tawny eyes, Matt realized that Emily loved the freedom of the open range as much as he did. They rode south to Victor and turned onto the Gold Camp Road that led to Colorado Springs before they slowed their pace. Trees and hills were dressed in their fall finery, and a hint of winter bit the brisk air. Traveling at an easy canter, they exchanged smiles often as the horses carried them along the well-worn trail. Was it happiness and love making her so radiant today, or was he merely seeing what he hoped to see?
They passed beside pastures where cattle grazed, on the vast Love Ranch, and then continued through the tiny town of Clyde. When they came to Beaver Creek, they dismounted to let the horses drink. Matt stretched, and then draped his arm around her shoulders. “Do you have any plans for while you’re home?”
“Besides pestering you?” she replied with an arched brow. “I need to talk to Richard, the ranch foreman, and read the mail—which won’t be much fun, since the letters from a distance are still addressed to Papa.”
Noting the slight catch in her voice, McClanahan stroked her back. “Emily, I’ll need to check with the sheriff about something pertaining to the murder while we’re there. You might not want to go with me.”
She looked up at him with questioning eyes.
He sighed. “I have to get the bullets that were in your father’s body, so we can identify the gun that shot him. If there was any other way—”
“I understand. You have to have evidence,” she murmured as she gazed toward the horizon. “Maybe I’ll visit with Richard then. Catch up on what’s been happening.”
Matt nodded and placed his hands on her shoulders as they looked out over the lush green grassland. “What does Richard know about your papa’s murder, honey?”
“Everything. He heard the shots—came to the house right after you left. It was a Saturday night, so all the hands were in town,” Emily explained. “The men were shocked when they came home, because Papa always took a personal interest in them. They were very protective during the investigation—swore they’d shoot any suspicious character who set foot on the ranch. When I left to search Cripple Creek, they decided to act as th
ough the rumors about me still being in mourning were true, figuring the gunslinger might try to bilk me out of my inheritance. I—I couldn’t ask for more loyal employees.”
She was doing her damndest to sound strong, and because McClanahan knew the agonizing emptiness she was feeling, he admired her more than any woman he’d ever met. He wrapped his arms around her and leaned her back against himself. “So how’d Donahue become involved?”
Emily rolled her eyes. “I wish he never had, but he dug Papa and Viry’s graves, and spent weeks in the mountains with the sheriff, tracking the killer. When I decided to go to Cripple, it looked like a good time to get Clancy away from the Flaming B, too. He claimed he should’ve been foreman instead of Richard Crabtree, and Richard and I thought the promotion to the Golden Rose would settle his resentment. Boy, were we wrong.”
“But the idea wasn’t yours alone,” Matt reminded her with a hug, “so neither is the blame. And Donahue’s locked away now, and we’ve got several days together, so let’s just forget him—shall we?”
The tenderness in his voice touched Emily’s heart and she turned to meet his blue-eyed gaze, wishing his romantic notions were all she had to think about. “We’ll still have to be careful,” she warned him. “Richard and the men will be watching you, Matt. They’ll be suspicious of an outsider who’s suddenly in on our plot.”
“You must inspire a great deal of loyalty, Miss Burnham.”
Emily smiled up at him. “It was in Richard’s best interest to keep my whereabouts a secret—I promised him a new house as payment for his help…and with Grath in jail, it won’t be long now before he can build it. We should order the lumber while we’re here, and we should be prepared for the hands to start asking questions, too. They’ll want to know how things have gone in Cripple. And they’ll probably ask you point-blank about your involvement with the investigation—and me.”
Matt chuckled. “It’s incredible that your men know the truth, yet they’re keeping so quiet.”
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