Everyone feared fire, even the most hardy of souls...
Kitty’s eyes filled with tears as she scanned the area, searching for the ragged form of her father. “Marta—” she whispered.
Marta hugged her closer. “I know. I know.”
Marta tapped Frank. “Please, Frank. Look for him. Find him.”
Frank nodded. “Yes, okay, but you two stay here. Out of the way.”
****
An hour later, as a smoky fog wafted through the trees, curling up and around the branches of the nearby cedars and pines, Marta led Kitty back to her house. Frank had not yet returned, and Chance had joined the hunt for Hiram Whitworth.
Kitty took her seat at the table where just a little over an hour before she and Marta, Frank and Chance had sat down to supper. Marta removed the kettle of stew and the bread, then brought over two steaming cups of coffee. She patted Kitty on the shoulder before dropping into the chair beside her.
“They’ll find him,” Marta said.
Kitty looked over at her friend—her only friend in this god-forsaken community—and nodded. “One way or the other,” she whispered. “One way or the other.”
The words sounded harsh even to her own ears. But it seemed the only thing she could say. After all, it would have been impossible for her father to survive such a fire unless he’d sensed it. There was absolutely nothing left…Locked in his small room, in his typical stupor, he’d never have detected it until it was too late.
And what a fool she’d been to leave the lamps lit. While she had hesitated over dimming them, she left without doing so. Why? She was normally so frugal—saving candle ends and collecting fabric remnants that she could re-use to save money. Why had she left the lamps lit this evening?
She pushed a hand through her hair, noting it had come undone and now hung in ringlets past her shoulders. But what did it matter?
Marta placed a hand over hers. “He probably escaped. It’s a small house. He’d have had time.”
Kitty looked up then shrugged. “I hope so. Oh, Marta,” she added, “what if he didn’t make it?”
“Don’t lose hope,” Marta said.
****
The sound of footsteps startled her. She raised her head, the darkness of night broken only by the lit oil lamp sitting on the table. She was alone in the kitchen.
Jumping to her feet, Kitty rushed to the front door. Chance and Frank, dirty and sooty, stood there, their arms around the crumpled, filthy form of her father.
She sobbed as she reached for him.
Behind her, Marta cried out, “Thank you, Lord!”
The two men half-dragged her father into the kitchen. “Bring him close to the fire,” said Marta. “He must be near freezing.” She turned to Kitty. “The quilt. On our bed.”
Kitty dashed into the small adjoining room and returned with Marta’s pride and joy, her precious, beautifully stitched patch quilt. She wrapped it around her father, moaning as she studied his face. “Where did you find him?”
Frank spoke first. “Chance—”
“In the forest,” interrupted Chance.
Marta shook her head. “Poor Hiram. He’s half-dressed—”
Kitty’s tears fell without reservation. In the forest? Alone? No doubt drunk and confused, half-dressed?
Chance propped him against the wall, not far from the fire. “If you have a pillow?”
Marta nodded and jumped up.
“Thank you,” Kitty whispered in the silence that followed, her glance falling on Frank first, and then Chance. She noticed that Chance was as filthy as her father, his hands sooty and grimy, his face smeared with blood and dirt.
Frank began again, “Chance, here—”
Chance cut him off as Marta returned with the pillow. “He’s going to be okay, that’s what matters.” He gently slipped the pillow under her father’s head, which lolled to the left.
Kitty bit her lip, wanting so much to believe that her father would be all right. She reached out and touched his lips. “His mouth is so bruised and bloody.”
Frank put a hand on her shoulder. “He was trapped under some brush. Chance had to drag him out.”
“I don’t understand,” she said.
Chance cleared his throat. “Why don’t we let your father rest?” He stood up and reached for Kitty.
She felt a rush of emotion as he took her hand. Hard, large, calloused, the grip of his hand left her weak in the knees.
He looked down at her. “I think Miss Whitworth needs something a little stiffer than tea or coffee, Frank. You got any whiskey?”
“A little brandy. That’s all,” returned Frank. He was on his feet, moving toward the sideboard. Marta remained next to Kitty’s father and dabbed at his cheeks with a rag.
Kitty moved as if in a dream, letting Chance lead her to a rocking chair on the far side of the woodstove. “Sit here. You can keep an eye on your father.”
Kitty nodded, but said nothing. She felt as if she were in a dream—maybe a nightmare—where she was helpless, moving more like a ghost than a live body. She looked up at Chance, and thought that perhaps his eyes weren’t hawkish, after all. They were gray, yes, but they were large, soft, and suggested what? Disappointment?
****
It was well past midnight before Hiram Whitworth finally stirred.
Chance, seated at the table across from Kitty, jumped up. He didn’t want to disturb Kitty, but knew she would be livid if he didn’t, so he tapped her gently on the shoulder.
“Yes?” she murmured.
Chance stared down at her, captivated by the mass of hair spilling down her back. She’d removed the pins that normally held it in place, revealing deep russet curls. He let his index finger trace the length of one long ringlet. It was soft, almost velvety in its texture.
He pulled back as Kitty sat up and yawned. He whispered, “Your father stirred a little earlier. Not much, but enough to know that he’s waking up.”
Immediately, Kitty pushed back from the table to stand up.
She faltered, so Chance reached out with both hands, steadying her. She took a quick breath, her gaze rising to his face. She didn’t move, but continued to stare up at him. What lay behind her guarded expression? It moved him, deep in the recesses of his gut—and suddenly—without understanding why, he wanted to kiss her.
Kiss her!
Instead, Chance released her.
She turned and ran to her father. “Papa!”
****
Chance spent much of the day digging through the remnants of Kitty Whitworth’s home. He knew it would probably yield nothing, but he also knew it was no coincidence that both the saloon and Kitty’s home had been attacked. And though Cox didn’t appear to be the kind of man who could manage both attacks, he was the most reasonable suspect—at least for the moment.
He headed back to the office with a handful of nails, a skillet, and what remained of a rifle. Oh, there were a few other salvageable items, but for the most part, everything had been destroyed. He knew Miss Whitworth would be devastated by the loss, but Frank had already told him that he and Marta had invited Kitty and her father to stay with them until a new home could be built.
Chance was relieved. There was no hotel in Lone Pine and few acceptable homes, and he certainly had no place to offer except a narrow, cold jail cell.
After spending a good part of the night tending Mr. Whitworth and another hour or more watching the enigmatic Miss Whitworth sleep—albeit restlessly—he’d left before anyone in the Garcie home had stirred.
He slipped out of the back door, stopping only long enough to grab a hunk of Miss Whitworth’s forgotten loaf of bread, and headed to Whitey’s. There had to be a clue he’d missed, and with the complete devastation of the Whitworth home, it left only the saloon.
But there had been nothing outside of the broken furniture and ransacked storage areas.
****
“He’s finally awake!” cried Kitty as she rushed into the kitchen.
&nbs
p; Marta wiped her hands across her apron and smiled. “Oh, praise the Lord.”
Kitty led the way back into Frank and Marta’s room. The couple had insisted on bringing Hiram into their room after he began to stir early that morning, Marta declaring it was only right.
That was when Marta discovered the burns Hiram had suffered up and down his legs and arms. Kitty and Marta dressed his wounds, and for the remainder of the afternoon, Kitty sat in Marta’s rocking chair, sometimes sleeping, sometimes staring down at the wretched form of her father, aghast at what had become of this proud and gifted man.
Hiram grimaced as Kitty smiled down at him. “I really made a mess of things,” he whispered.
“Hush, now,” Kitty returned. “You are alive. That’s all I care about.”
Hiram shook his head. “You’d have been better off back east with your mother. She was right. This was no place to bring a daughter.”
Marta, standing at the doorway, smiled. “Hiram, now, you know full well Kitty is a strong and independent woman. She’s no wilting violet.”
Hiram tried to smile. “No, certainly no wilting violet.”
“Papa,” interrupted Kitty, “Marta made some fine broth. I’ll go get some.”
****
That night at supper, Frank finally told Kitty about Chance Riebold’s struggle to track and then rescue her father.
“He tracked him like a hound,” he said, turning to Marta. “It was Chance, the old scout back at work. Amazing skill,” he added. “I thought there was no way that Hiram could have survived that fire, but Chance—he knew. He just knew. Everybody else gave up and went home, but not Chance. On and on we went. I’d just about given up all hope.”
Kitty held her breath. “How could he have known?”
Frank shook his head. “He’s like that. I tell you, on the trail, he was like that, too. Pushed us ’til sometimes folks refused to go on.”
Marta nodded. “Yes, Kitty. He knew where the water holes were—even when he had to backtrack or break a new trail.” She smiled across at Frank. “Frank used to say he could smell his way to water.”
“Well, I don’t know if he smelled his way to Hiram, but Chance insisted that such a man as he would never let himself get burned alive. He had too much to live for.”
Kitty swallowed her tears as she recalled their tense exchange in the saloon, when she’d implied that her father was weak—and Chance had indicated that such a man could not survive the rugged West.
“That’s not all,” continued Frank. “We finally tracked him to that cave and without hesitating, Chance said, ‘That’s where he’s hiding.’ It was such a small cave, I don’t know how Chance—as big as he is—squeezed himself into it. But in he went.”
Kitty’s tears fell then and she didn’t stop them. Marta reached over and covered her hand with hers.
Frank grinned. “When he came out, hot damn! He had Hiram by the legs. I tell you, Chance is someone you don’t want to mess with.”
****
Kitty started down Lone Pine’s main street toward the sheriff’s office. She’d not seen Chance Riebold since the night he’d brought her father back, and it had been almost three days since that horrifying night.
She needed to thank him. She needed to look him straight in the eyes and thank him. Especially now that her father had begun to regain his strength and, because he’d been without a bottle, he even looked like her father once more.
Oh, she’d thought Chance Riebold a hard man—an arrogant man—but she’d been wrong. So wrong.
“Kitty—”
Stopping in her tracks, she turned and frowned.
“Now, Kitty,” Adam Cox murmured, “you are looking especially lovely. Is that a new frock?”
Kitty raised her chin and narrowed her gaze. “Mr. Cox, I’m only going to say this once and after this, never again. Please do not assume I have any interest in pursuing a relationship with you. I don’t—and I never will.”
The smile on Cox’s face vanished as he moved closer. “And I’m only going to say this once. You are mine, Kitty. Mine. I have no intention of letting you go.”
The words frightened her, and she clasped the folds of her skirt tightly as she considered her next move. She had to be careful, especially since this man’s lurid attentions had grown detestable, and she now truly feared that he’d had more than a passing involvement in burning down her home, as well as breaking into the saloon. “You have no claim on me,” she hissed. “Not now, not ever.”
“No?” he chuckled, his mouth curled up in a sinister smile.
“No,” came a deep, harsh reply.
Startled, Adam Cox turned to find himself looking up into the hawk-like face of Sheriff Riebold.
Kitty stepped back, her heart thumping wildly, her hands moist with perspiration.
“Miss Whitworth,” said Chance quietly, tapping the edge of his hat with one hand, “why don’t you take yourself down to the mercantile while I deal with our fire bug, Mr. Adam Cox, also known as Mr. Willie Thompson?”
Kitty nodded, undone by the sheriff’s direct and decidedly intimate, even captivating, glance. As she skirted the pair of men, she turned and peered over her shoulder. Sheriff Riebold, standing more than a head taller, had Cox by the shoulder, and, with his pistol in his right hand, was escorting him to his office.
Suddenly, Kitty felt like skipping—
****
Chance Riebold turned the lock on the jail cell. Cox—or rather, Thompson—stood on the other side of the bars, his insidious smile still on his face.
“You have nothing to go on,” he said, removing his coat and dropping it to the cot. “You really are grasping at straws, sheriff, if you think you can convict me of more than trying to seduce Kitty.”
Chance said nothing. It was true he had little to go on, but he had more than he’d let on right now. After digging around for the last several days, interrogating handfuls of miners who might have some information, he contacted the sheriff in Yuba City, and he’d been amply rewarded. Willie Thompson was wanted for robbery and arson in several settlements around the gold fields.
But it was true, he had to admit, that the man’s incessant pursuit of Kitty Whitworth burned most deeply.
“Come on, sheriff,” Cox began, “you know you got your eye on her, same as me. She’s a pretty little thing, ain’t she? All soft and round, big-eyed, fresh as a daisy. Bet she’s never had herself a man—you think?”
Chance, his right hand fingering his pistol, did not answer. Instead he stepped up to the bars, and—smiling—knocked Cox in the forehead with the butt of his gun. Cox fell back against the far wall and landed across the cot.
Chance smiled. “Judge will be here in the next couple of days, Mr. Cox, or whatever your name is.”
****
Marta met Kitty at the door. “Your father wants to see you.”
Kitty raised her brows. “Is he all right?”
Marta smiled. “Yes, dear, he’s all right. He’s smiling and—”
Kitty rushed in and found her father sitting in Marta’s rocking chair, a blanket wrapped around him. Neatly groomed, he smiled as she entered. “Kitty?”
“Oh, Papa! You look so good today. How are you feeling?”
Hiram smiled. “I haven’t felt this good—apart from these burns—in months. Oh, Kitty, I have so much to apologize for. And yet, so much to be grateful for. Can you ever forgive me?”
Kitty dropped to her knees beside her father. How long had it been since she’d sat with him, feeling his warm smile and hearing his sweet voice? Tears filled her eyes as she looked up into his face. “Papa, you have no reason to ask for my forgiveness. And I’m so—so grateful. It was Mr. Riebold—”
“Ah, yes, Mr. Riebold. I understand he had something to do with my rescue?” He chuckled.
Kitty blushed. “Just a little something,” she whispered.
“Well, according to Marta—who knows all—he has developed more than a little interest in you, as well.”
Kitty shook her head even as her heart beat so loudly she wondered if her father could hear it. “I don’t know what Marta told you, Papa, but Sheriff Riebold was—he was—well, he was just doing his job.”
“I don’t think so,” came a familiar voice from the doorway.
Jumping to her feet, Kitty turned.
Towering above her, Chance Riebold smiled. “In fact, I know so,” he whispered, his gray eyes drawing her in. He turned to Hiram. “I’m glad you are recovering, sir. We’ve all been more than a little worried. Especially Kitty, here—” He glanced down at her again, but this time, he reached out and put his hand over hers.
She couldn’t help but tremble.
Marta entered the room then, a freckled smile across her face. She looked at Kitty then up at Chance. “So, Chance Riebold, what’s this?”
Chance grinned, but said nothing.
Marta nodded and looked over at Hiram. “I had no doubt as to the rightness of bringing Chance to Lone Pine. I told Frank he was the right man for Kitty.”
Kitty stammered, “But—”
“Now, Marta, no doubt Mr. Riebold turned out to be just the right man for Lone Pine and—if Kitty says so—maybe for her, as well. But she’s going to have to make up her own mind on that score.”
Kitty stole a glance at Chance; what did he think of all this matchmaking? What did she think of it, for that matter?
Just then, Frank entered. Seeing Hiram sitting up, he smiled. “It’s been a long week, my friend. We weren’t sure you were bound for this world or the next, for the first few days, anyway.” He turned to Chance. “Mr. Cox is on his way to Sacramento even as we speak, and I don’t think he’ll be seeing the light of day for awhile.”
“Thank you, Frank.” Chance turned to Kitty. “Turned out that Cox is wanted for no less than eight robberies and several attempts at arson in a number of towns down below. And he’ll not be bothering you again. Ever.”
Kitty smiled up at Chance, suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to throw her arms around him. Or—or, maybe—
She blushed and nervously ran a hand through her hair. As always, her bun had come loose and she had to wrap several wild strands around her ear. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Lariats, Letters, and Lace Page 23
