by Nancy Bush
¤ ¤ ¤
“Uncle Horace, stay on your feet!” Miracle whispered fiercely in the old reprobate’s ear. She wanted to get him safely away from here – from the sheriff, from his deputy, from Jace Garrett, and from the cold jail cell where she’d found him tossed in with an obnoxious group of filthy drunks flopped all around the sour-smelling room. The smell had been enough to set Miracle’s stomach to quivering.
But Uncle Horace had been there – unhurt but stinking with whiskey. Upon seeing her, tears had filled his eyes, and he’d thanked God for bringing him the angel of his beloved Miranda.
Miracle had been forced to slap him twice to convince him she was real.
Now he simply wanted to collapse in her arms and cry all over her. She understood the sentiment. She was glad to see him, too. But Jace Garrett, damn the blackguard, had told the sheriff that she’d been at the barn with Harrison Danner the night it had burned, and now she needed desperately to appear like an upstanding, concerned citizen, not some savage half-breed. Uncle Horace wasn’t helping matters at all.
“The man was shot at close range,” Sheriff Raynor said, looking down at the dead figure on the ground. “Point-blank, looks like.”
It was the man Miracle had known as Jeb.
“Did you see this man there that night?” the deputy asked Miracle.
Miracle could scarcely stand to look at Jeb without feeling sick. “He knocked Uncle Horace out with his gun. I thought he’d killed him for a minute.”
“Where was this?” Sheriff Raynor demanded swiftly.
“On the front seat of my wagon. He’d jumped on the wagon and stopped it. We were on our way to Rock Springs.”
“From Malone?”
Miracle nodded.
The sheriff stared at her as if he were seeing a ghost. “I’d say you’re lucky to be alive, little lady. There’ve been a few deaths on that stretch of road. Young women.”
“Well, the man’s dead now,” Jace Garrett pointed out. “Nothing to worry about.”
But there were others, Miracle thought, and feeling Jace’s gaze on her she was certain he was thinking the same thing. He must’ve seen them, too, she realized. She’d learned during the course of the evening that Jace had been held at gunpoint by several thieves who’d made him open the Half Moon’s safe.
“What happened after your – er – uncle was knocked out?”
Miracle didn’t want to explain about being taken to the barn, auctioned off, and sold to Harrison Danner. It was mortifying and potentially dangerous.
The sheriff waited expectantly. She could see the faces of the men caught in the lantern light. She opened her mouth, a hot tide of embarrassment sweeping up her neck, but never had a chance to speak.
“Hullo, Jace.” Harrison Danner’s voice sounded behind her left shoulder.
Miracle jumped and swung around in disbelief.
“Hi, Miracle,” he added in a friendly tone. She peered more closely at him. He was furious! “What’s going on here?” His gaze touched on Uncle Horace, who had become a muttering deadweight in Miracle’s arms, then landed on the even deader body of Jeb lying on the ground, arms flung to the sides, eyes staring sightlessly at the cloud-scattered heavens.
“You know this woman?” Raynor asked Harrison curiously.
“Didn’t you see us together this afternoon?” Harrison answered in mild surprise. “Miracle and I are – acquaintances.”
“Nice of you to make an appearance, Danner,” Jace said dryly. “Would have been nicer if you’d appeared at church on Saturday.”
Harrison’s expression didn’t change. “Would have been nicer yet if you let people know I was with you the night I disappeared. Did you really think I’d burned? Or did you just hope so?”
Jace jerked forward, as if he might strike Harrison, and before Miracle really thought, she’d leapt between them, dragging Uncle Horace with her.
“I believe I can handle this by myself, Miracle,” Harrison said wryly. “Why don’t you lay Uncle Horace down? He won’t know the difference.”
Since this was patently true, Miracle did as he suggested, placing Uncle Horace on his side on the hard ground. He snored blissfully on, oblivious to the high tensions surrounding them.
“I told Raynor where you were,” Jace spat through his teeth. “We dug up some pretty charred bodies looking for you.”
Harrison gazed at Raynor for corroboration, and the sheriff nodded. “Jace came with me to identify your remains.”
“The least I could do,” Jace said, his lip curling.
Harrison lifted an eyebrow, and glanced down at the dead body on the ground. “This was one of the men who was at the card game?”
Jace nodded. “He followed me back to the Half Moon and extorted money from me.”
“How much?” Harrison asked, still looking at the man, committing his features to memory.
Jace was terse. “Enough.”
“My share of the winnings?” Harrison asked with a glimmer of humor.
Jace glowered, and Miracle wondered just what was going on.
The deputy, who’d been examining the area around the body and near the falls, suddenly let out a cry of discovery, reaching into the foaming water. He pulled out a dripping gun, and Miracle’s mouth went dry.
It was her Colt .45.
“Looks like we’ve found the murder weapon,” Sheriff Raynor said thoughtfully, taking the gun from his deputy. “Jace, why don’t you come back inside the office and give a description of the other man? Maybe you should come, too, Harrison.”
“Let me take care of a few things first,” said Harrison. He reached down and hauled Uncle Horace up to his feet, grimacing a little at the strain to his back.
“I can carry him,” Miracle put in quickly as Harrison half-dragged Horace toward the Half Moon Saloon and Miracle’s parked wagon. Jace, walking with the sheriff and deputy, glanced back at Miracle and Harrison, his expression unreadable.
“I’ve got him,” Harrison answered in a harsh tone that left no room for argument.
Miracle ran ahead and opened the doors to the wagon. Then she helped Harrison heave Uncle Horace inside. Pulling down one of the fold-out cots, which were really much too short for comfort, they managed to lay Uncle Horace on his back, his feet dangling over the end. He was in much the same position, and condition, he’d been in the night they were accosted by the highwaymen, but Miracle could’ve hugged and kissed his dirty, drunken, unconscious self anyway.
“Thank you,” she said to Harrison, feeling suddenly shy around him. “I appreciate your help, especially since…”
He slid her a look. “Since?”
“Since I – accidentally – stabbed you.” Her words were quickly spoken, as if the faster they were uttered the less power they evoked. She yanked on Uncle Horace’s boots, and he grunted in his sleep, slapping ineffectually at her hands.
“Why don’t you pull this thing behind Garrett’s Hotel,” Harrison suggested, patting the wall of the wagon. “I’m sure there’re rooms there for both you and Uncle Horace.”
“We’ll be sleeping in the wagon tonight,” Miracle answered firmly.
“Why? Don’t you have enough money for rooms?”
Thinking of the lost tin box of money, Miracle gritted her teeth. “No. That man by the falls…”
“The dead one?” Harrison prompted.
“He and his friends stole my money. It was in a special tin box, and when I got back to the wagon it was gone.”
“I’ll pay for your rooms.”
She swung around on him fiercely, nearly knocking him into the wagon’s interior wall. “No, you will not. I feel awful already. You don’t have to make me feel worse!”
Harrison regarded her incredulously. “Make you feel worse? After nights of taking care of me, I just thought you could use a decent bed. I would’ve had you stay at the house, but you tore away before I could offer.”
“We’re perfectly fine on our own. Thank you very much.”
In truth, Miracle didn’t want to be beholden to Harrison Danner any more than she already was.
“I’ll pay for the rooms,” Harrison said again, more determinedly, pushing against the back doors of the wagon as if the matter were already decided.
Miracle grasped his arm hard. “No! We can take care of ourselves.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” he muttered angrily. “You can pay me back. It looks like this old guy’s been dragging through the mud ever since he lost you. He could use some sleep. And so could you,” he added, the light in his green eyes unusually fierce.
“We don’t take charity,” Miracle bit out.
“It’s a loan, all right?”
Instinct told her this was a much more monumental decision than just whether she would have a warm, soft place to sleep tonight. Right now, she and Harrison were almost strangers. Acquaintances, he’d called them, a word Miracle’s heart sorely objected to even though she knew it was the truth. But if she were to accept any kindness from him, that put their relationship on a different level. She looked directly into his eyes. Beneath her fingers, the muscles of his upper arm were tense. She opened her mouth to say no, but the words didn’t come. His gaze dropped to her parted lips, and his brows drew together. She sensed a struggle going on within him.
“Miracle,” he said softly. “Let me do this one thing for you. Please.”
She nodded jerkily and dropped her hand. Harrison stepped out of the wagon, and Miracle latched the doors behind him. It wasn’t worth arguing over, she told herself. One night’s lodging for her and Uncle Horace. Tomorrow she could ask about her father, and, if they were lucky, they could learn his identity, and then…
Miracle couldn’t conceive of her father welcoming her with open arms. Yet she desperately wanted to know who he was. Just the knowledge would be enough, she decided. Once she knew, she and Uncle Horace could be on their way.
These thoughts raced around her mind as she closed up the wagon, climbed into the driver’s seat, drove the team forward, then stopped, at Harrison’s direction, behind Garrett’s Hotel. Harrison helped her unhitch and stable the horses, and when they were finished they stood outside the hotel’s back door. He glanced down at Miracle in a way that brought her heart to her throat, pounding there with unexpected emotion.
“I’ll go get you some rooms,” he muttered, turning on his heel.
She let out a deep breath, feeling suddenly exhausted. When he returned fifteen minutes later, Miracle was slowly gathering together her and Uncle Horace’s clothes as well as a few personal items.
“You’re both on the third floor,” Harrison told her. “He’s got the room across the hall from you. There’s a washroom downstairs near the back.”
Miracle nodded. “Thank you.”
“This tin of money,” he said slowly. “Was a lot?”
“Enough.”
“If anyone starts throwing money around, it might be worth looking into. What did this tin box look like?”
Miracle had no hope it would ever be found, certainly not with her savings still inside it. She described the box, finishing with “The lid was carved in intricate filigree. You wouldn’t expect that kind of workmanship on a tin box. It was unique.”
“If I see it, I’ll let you know.”
They were standing near the wagon, the sighing wind whipping up the leaves in quick, wild flurries, the sound of the falls dull and reassuring from behind a row of buildings to the east. The moon seemed especially brilliant, and Miracle swept her gaze away from Harrison’s hooded eyes. Why did she have to remember the feel of his arms around her now? Why did she have to remember the ecstasy of being crushed in his embrace?
To her shock and surprise, he suddenly bent down and kissed her gently on the lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said gruffly, and then he strode away.
Her lips tingled, and she closed her eyes and groaned at her stupidity. Thank you, Lord, for bringing me Uncle Horace. But did You have to let me fall in love with Harrison Danner, too? I don’t mean to complain, but couldn’t I just be allowed to forget him?
Miracle opened her eyes. Since God didn’t answer, she figured this was her penance.
The back door of the hotel flew open, and a young man with fiery red hair appeared. “Doctor Danner said I was to help you bring your uncle inside,” he said.
“Doctor Danner?” Miracle asked, surprised for a moment.
“Yes’m. He’s the horse doctor. There is a lot of Doctor Danners in Rock Springs. You a friend of Doctor Harrison?”
“We – know each other,” Miracle admitted. Then she and the young boy hauled up a protesting Uncle Horace inside Garrett’s Hotel.
¤ ¤ ¤
The night air was thick and cold as Brody Stephenson swept back a hanging maple branch, the leaves dry and frigid against his cheek. He grimaced, but it was more an expression of fear and discomfort. He had bad news, and the chief wasn’t going to like it.
The hard feel of a gun barrel against his temple brought him up short.
“You’re like an elephant thrashing through the underbrush,” a familiar voice said in disgust. “The whole world could be snapping at your heels like a pack of wolves and you’d never hear it!”
“I didn’t mean to be late. I jes’ ran into some trouble and was hurryin’ back.”
“What kind of trouble?” The question was short and sharp.
“Jeb. He started flashin’ money aroun’ and getting’ loud. Everybody in the Half Moon saw it.”
“Jesus, holy mother!” he exploded. “Jeb was in the Half Moon? Was Garrett there?”
“Nah. Not while we was. But Jeb left the money and the tin box, and when I asked him about Garrett we got in a fight. Then he reached for his gun, and I – I had to do it – I couldn’t stop him!”
“What did you do, Brody?”
“I shot him, Chief. I shot him dead.”
The silence that followed was so intense that Brody’s breath quickened. He wasn’t too smart; he knew that about himself. But his instincts were strong, and he’d bet half a year’s loot that the man he knew only as the chief was thinking of killing him right now.
Brody closed his eyes and sent up a prayer, the only time he’d pleaded with God since he was five years old.
The moment passed. Brody squinted open one eye.
“What tin box?” The chief asked in a deceptively calm voice.
Too late Brody saw the trap he’d fallen into. He swept in a frightened breath. He and Jeb hadn’t told the chief about the money they’d found in that peddler’s wagon; they’d kept the stash for themselves. Now he would have to ‘fess up.
“It was the girl’s and the old man’s.”
“What girl?” The chief’s fury lashed out like a whip.
Brody swallowed hard and whined, “The one with the peddler’s wagon that we hauled off to the barn and sold to that Danner fellow.”
“What was in the tin box?”
“A little money.”
“How much?” he thundered.
“Jes’ a little.”
“I see. So you and Jeb decided to cut me out of this little windfall?”
Brody nodded.
“Jeb left this tin box in the Half Moon?”
“And most of the money at the gamblin’ tables.”
“Ah.” He paused. “Well, I guess there’s nothing more to do. The girl’s dead and so’s Danner and so’s that old man you threw in the river. Garrett won’t recognize the box.”
Brody bowed his head. He felt the surreal calm that surrounded the doomed embrace him. “The girl’s alive, Chief. So’s Danner. And so’s the old man. They were all there with the sheriff lookin’ at Jeb’s body. I was standin’ in the shadows behind the Half Moon, and –”
The blow hit Brody so hard he saw colored lights. He fell to the ground, stunned.
“For Chrissake, can’t you do anything right?” The toe of the chief’s boot dug viciously into Brody’s side. Brody curled up into a ball. “Garre
tt being alive was bad enough. But now you’ve got this girl who got a good look at you. A good look! If she sees you, she’ll remember.”
“Danner and the old man don’t know us,” Brody mumbled through his pain.
“A helluva lot of good that does with this girl out there!” he bellowed furiously, kicking at Brody’s ribs until he heard the satisfying crunch of bone. “Did she recognize Jeb? Did she?”
But Brody had learned his lesson, and he was past believing the truth might save him. He’d told as much as he was going to. “Nobody rec’nized him. They thought – he was a drunk – that got in a fight.” He spat blood onto the ground.
“You’d better be telling me the truth, Brody,” came the snarled reply. “Or else your life ain’t gonna be worth a plugged nickel.”
Chapter Nine
Miracle stretched luxuriously, burying her face in the lovely feather pillow, reveling in the feel of real cotton sheets and a mattress that felt like it swallowed you up.
Garrett’s Hotel was pure heaven.
She opened her eyes to half-mast and spied the washbowl and pitcher atop the oak stand. She would get up, wash her face, change her clothes, then see about Uncle Horace.
Uncle Horace! Miracle’s eyes flew wide open. Last night seemed like a dream; she could scarcely believe he was really alive. Now she needed to make certain he was flesh and blood and unhurt.
Leaping from the bed, Miracle grabbed the satchel of clothes she’d brought from the wagon. She was going to have to do some washing soon. There was hardly a clean item of clothing left.
Choosing a plain brown wool skirt and a white shirtwaist, Miracle dressed herself quickly, poured water from the pitcher into the bowl, rinsed her face and hands, and glanced at her reflection in the tiny mirror on the wall above.
She didn’t look any different since making love to Harrison, she decided critically. In fact, she looked remarkably the same. But as she stared at herself, Harrison’s features superimposed themselves over her own, and her knees went weak.
Hellfire and damnation. Was she going to overreact every time she thought about him? Good heavens, she would be a whimpering wreck in no time if she didn’t forget him.
