by Tess LeSue
Hearing them, Matt put his arm around Georgiana and rested his hand on Susannah’s shoulder. His touch stilled them both. Georgiana didn’t think she could have faced the trial ahead without him.
Mokelumne Hill made Independence look positively civilized. The buildings were roughly thrown up, many of them out of kilter, and the streets were nothing but churned-up dirt and manure. Tree stumps littered the town. The trees had been hacked down for their lumber, but no one had bothered to remove the stumps. They blocked streets and stairways and jutted in alleyways, giving the whole place a careless look. There was even one right in the middle of the street that they had to maneuver around.
She didn’t see a church or a schoolhouse or a barber, or any sign of decent life. What she did see were saloons and opium dens and gambling houses. Finally, she spotted some women. But they weren’t the kind of women she wanted to see. Draped in doorways and on balconies were an assortment of saloon girls and whores, wearing precious little more than their underclothes. Each and every one of them had a somnolent, weary look. Some were clearly drunk. She couldn’t imagine why she’d thought she could settle in a gold town, where men lay in the gutter, sodden with booze, and whores plied their trade right in the open street. This was no place for women and children.
She couldn’t believe that her boy, her gentle son, had to live in this filth, among these degenerates. Her heart squeezed in her chest as she imagined Leo here. Darling Leo. The most sensitive of all her children. What had he endured in the years they’d been apart?
“Nearly there,” Matt murmured, feeling her tension. He gave her a sympathetic smile. “Nearly there, honey. We’ll get him.”
Yes. They would. When Matt said it, she felt no doubt at all. He was like a mountain on the seat beside her. She blinked the tears back and faced the town head-on.
Leonard’s letters had described a clean and open country, with pine trees and rushing rivers, and gold lying around for the taking. He’d written of a new settlement, with great swathes of land to build on; he’d told her about the riches and the possibilities, the home he was building and the wholesome life they’d lead.
He’d never once mentioned that every second building was a saloon.
He’d said he’d built them a whitewashed house with a wraparound porch, she thought sourly. Where? Right here on the main street, where that man was vomiting up his night’s liquor? Or over there, by the alley, where that whore was pressing her hand into a man’s crotch?
There was no whitewashed house that Georgiana could see. There was just a series of raw timber storefronts, the clutter of mining equipment and the stench of sawdust and booze.
“There it is,” Matt said softly, “the hotel. And there’s Kipp.”
Kipp had ridden on ahead. That had been the first thing to go wrong with their plan. It wasn’t a good sign, Georgiana thought superstitiously. They’d meant for Wendell to ride into Mokelumne Hill and to tell Hec Boehm Georgiana was on her way. He’d been supposed to set up a meeting. They’d planned it carefully. They’d meet on their terms, in a place of their choosing.
But they hadn’t counted on Kipp.
“I ain’t driving this crapbox while you go moseying on into Moke Hill like you did it all on your ownsome,” he’d snarled at Wendell. “I’m coming with you.”
“You can’t, you dolt. Someone’s got to stay with her,” Wendell had argued. “That’s the whole point of us traveling with her. To make sure she don’t get up to any nonsense. One of us has to stay.”
“Well, it ain’t going to be me. You think Hec’s going to be pleased that she went and got herself married? I ain’t sitting here while you go laying the blame on me.”
They were such immoral little rodents that they didn’t even trust each other. And Kipp’s instincts were good: he was right not to trust Wendell; Wendell was betraying him. Just not quite in the way he thought. It wasn’t much of a betrayal, since Hec still got the gold claim, but Wendell certainly wasn’t being honest with his companion. He was going to make himself a little money on the side.
Let them betray each other and lie to each other. So long as her son was delivered to her in one piece she didn’t care . . .
Don’t think about it. Those kinds of fears only sapped her courage, and she needed every last ounce of courage for the day ahead.
Kipp was waiting for them on the rough porch of the Golden Nugget Hotel, where he’d booked them rooms. The hotel was so new it still smelled like lumber and paint. The sign out the front was enormous, done in bright colors, with a chunky gold nugget in place of the O in “Golden.”
“Imaginative name,” Matt said. He was trying to lighten the mood, but Georgiana’s mood couldn’t be lightened. She felt all wound up, like a tin toy.
Kipp was watching them through slitted eyes as they pulled up.
“I know you like things fancy, so I got you the biggest room they had,” he said bluntly in greeting. “And I ordered you a bath so you can wash the stink off. Hec’ll meet you at seven. Over there.”
She followed his pointing finger to the saloon just across the way. It was the biggest building on the street, also raw timber, the brand-new nailheads shining in the sun. It didn’t have a name; the sign just said “Saloon.” The rough-hewn wooden sign swung on its hinges, squeaking. Georgiana glimpsed movement on the second floor and looked up to see a man standing at the open window, lifting a cigar to his mouth. He was a slab of a man, square faced, with small features and even smaller eyes. Hec Boehm. It had to be. He was watching her the way a hawk would watch a mouse, head to the side, ready to swoop.
Her dread intensified. This wasn’t the plan. They’d meant to set the meeting themselves, to organize a private room, to be there waiting for him: they were supposed to take control. She’d planned to bathe and to dress in her very best. By the time Boehm saw her, she was supposed to look every inch a soft eastern lady. That was what they’d planned.
“I don’t see what my appearance has to do with anything,” she’d protested originally, when Matt and Wendell had hashed out the timeline.
“You look more gullible in your finery,” Matt had told her gently. “Easier to manage. We want to look as unthreatening as possible.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll play simple backwoodsman,” he said with a grin.
Georgiana didn’t think Matt could play simple to save his life. He was too capable. Too canny. And the sheer size of him was enough to threaten anyone, simple or not.
“Hec ain’t used to ladies,” Wendell said. “I reckon it’ll gentle him a bit if you come dressed like one.”
“A lady is a lady no matter what she wears,” Georgiana said primly.
Wendell snorted. “I reckon if you was dressed like them, you wouldn’t be such a lady,” he told her, nodding at the whores, who’d been trying on clothes to wear into Moke Hill the next day.
“Humph,” was all Georgiana could manage in response.
“Hec fancies himself a bit of a gentleman,” Wendell said. “He likes to give himself airs. You might be able to use that to your advantage. Act like you and he are civilized and the rest of us are savages. He’d like that.”
“Is he a gentleman?” Georgiana asked.
Wendell shrugged. “He wears a suit.”
He did wear a suit. Georgiana had seen it with her own eyes now. She doubted it made him a gentleman though, if he was in the business of holding young boys for ransom.
“Why is he meeting her over there?” Wendell asked, joining Kipp on the porch of the Golden Nugget. “I ain’t ever known him to set foot in Barker’s place before. It don’t make no sense.”
Kipp shrugged. “It ain’t my job to question him. He’s organized dinner for the lady in the private room upstairs.” Kipp didn’t make “lady” sound like a compliment. “He wanted to meet there, so he’s meeting there.”
�
�It gave him a pretty clear view of you arriving,” Matt murmured to Georgiana. “He can watch our every move from there. He can see us unloading, monitor how we interact and have a good view of us walking over to meet him. He’s about as prepared as he can be.”
Wendell and Kipp were too busy sniping at each other to hear what Matt said. Kipp was ordering Wendell over to see his boss. Wendell was kicking back.
“You tell him she’s gone and got married?” Wendell asked.
Kipp smirked. “No. I thought you could tell him that one yourself.”
“Why tell him at all?” Matt asked quickly.
Georgiana’s heart sank. No. No, no, no, no. She could only cope with the thought of this meeting because Matt was going to be there with her.
“Is there any point in antagonizing him?” Matt suggested. “Why not simply have Georgiana sign the papers over and let her and her boy go? She doesn’t care a fig for that land; she ain’t going to put up a fight.”
Kipp gave a bitter laugh. “Nice try, Slater. I told Hec all about you, and you know as well as I do that you’re the one who owns the mine now. Her signature ain’t worth shit. You got ownership of that mine the minute you said, ‘I do,’ and no wife can go signing away her husband’s property.” Kipp gave him a look so venomous it curdled Georgiana’s blood.
“I don’t want it,” Matt said calmly. “I ain’t planning to stay in California one minute longer’n I have to.”
“That’s all well and good, but you’d best put your signature on that deed before you leave. Hec’s got the judge coming up to witness it. All legal and civilized like, over dinner, like the lady is used to back east.”
The lady was used to nothing of the sort. Doing business at the dinner table was the least civilized thing she could think of.
“Where’s my son?” she asked tightly.
“Safe.” Kipp’s gaze was oily. “For now.”
“I want to see him.”
“Tonight. You wanted to look decent, and Hec’s being kind enough to give you the afternoon to pretty yourself up. So go make yourself pretty.” His gaze slid over to Wendell. “You come with me. You can be the one to tell him that she got married, and I’m going to watch while you do.”
Wendell had gone the shade of chalk. “You all right looking after the animals on your own?” he asked Matt.
“They’re his animals,” Kipp snapped. “He can damn well look after them by himself. We’re done acting like your hired hands, Slater.” Kipp spat at Matt’s feet.
“I don’t think he enjoyed traveling with us,” Matt said dryly.
They watched the two of them march off over the road. Georgiana looked back up at the open window, but the man—Hec Boehm—was gone.
“You all right?” Matt asked softly.
Georgiana was shaking but she nodded. She straightened her back and lifted her chin. She’d be damned if she’d show any fear.
* * *
• • •
THE WHORES BID them farewell and trundled off to find a campsite. Now they were in town, Seline was all brusque business. She was also heavily armed, Georgiana saw.
Georgiana was surprised to feel a pang as Seline and her girls rolled away. They’d been oddly pleasant traveling companions. Seline gave her a wave as they passed.
“Good luck, missus,” the whore called. “And good work on bagging one of those Slater boys. Send the other one my way when you see him!” She winked.
Georgiana wished she had even an ounce of Seline’s grit.
When she turned back from watching the whores roll away, she found Becky waiting to ask her a favor.
“Would it be all right if the LeFoy girls stay with us for the afternoon while Pierre tries to find them lodgings?” Becky asked anxiously. She was teary at the thought of parting from LeFoy. “The hotel is full, and they need somewhere to stay.”
Georgiana had been surprised when LeFoy had followed them to Mokelumne Hill instead of striking out with Joe. Becky seemed to have hopes that he’d stayed with them because of her, but Georgiana suspected he was merely tired of traveling. It was no small thing to drag three children over the mountains the way he had. Why keep going when there was a gold town closer than American River? One gold town was as good as another. And his endgame was to get to San Francisco anyway, after he’d turned a few coins among the miners. American River meant nothing to him except it was where Joe’s train had been headed.
“They won’t be any trouble,” Becky assured her. “I promise. And I’ll watch your little ’uns too while you go out to your meeting.”
Of course Georgiana agreed. She felt for the girl. Becky was so lovelorn it was painful to watch. She let Becky take Susannah and the LeFoy girls up to the room while she helped Matt and the twins take care of the animals and the wagons. Labor had become second nature to her and she barely thought about it. The old Georgiana would have expected to go rest in her room while someone else did the lifting and carrying. These days it didn’t even cross her mind to do anything but roll up her sleeves and get to work.
There was a heavy brocade curtain to divide their room, with a brass bed on one side and four camp beds on the other. A bath had been set up next to the brass bed on the far side, behind the partially closed curtain. Steam rose enticingly from the surface of the water.
“Your mother goes first,” Matt told the children. “She’s got an appointment to keep. Once she’s bathed, Becky will dump you all in one by one. You’re filthy, the lot of you.”
“Look who’s talking,” Phin scoffed. “You look like you rolled in a pigsty.”
“You smell like it too,” his brother agreed.
“Get on with you.” He rounded them all up to go downstairs to eat. “I’ll get them all fed,” he told Georgiana. “You clean up and I’ll come up soon to make myself decent. We’ve got about two hours.”
Two hours. Georgiana felt a wave of nausea. In two hours she’d see her son . . . If he was alive . . .
Stop.
She focused her attention on each little task, so she wouldn’t let the eely thoughts in. God knew they tried to slither in the moment she fell idle.
She had to look like a lady. She pulled a face as she looked in the mirror. The dirt was caked on her skin three layers deep. Her clothes were stiff with it, and her hair was matted. She looked thin and tired. There wasn’t so much as a trace of the pretty, plump widow who had left New York. She looked like a frontierswoman, through and through.
The Sierra Nevadas had been hard on her. And yet they had also been her salvation, she thought. No. Matt had been her salvation. Matt and the children and the days of toil. Being necessary had brought her back. They all needed her.
Something had washed away from her in the river that night, something heavy and suffocating. And then Matt . . .
He had saved her, she thought as she searched for a dress in her trunk. His kisses, his touches, his tenderness, the ecstasy of the nights in his arms: he’d brought her back to life. Her hand brushed over a dress as she went through her trunk. The blue gown. The one she’d worn to the dance that night in Independence. She tugged it free, remembering how she’d come out of mourning and dressed to catch his attention. Perhaps it was time to come out of mourning again.
She could see the strength in her body now as she undressed; her thighs had become lengths of muscle; her stomach was firm, her arms strong. She was remade into a steelier version of herself, not better, but more indestructible. Harder.
And that hardness would be a good thing when she met Hec Boehm.
Georgiana went through a whole bar of soap trying to get the dirt off. It was one of the small cache of fancy soaps she’d brought from home, not the liquid potash she’d stocked up on in Independence. She’d been saving the bars for special occasions, but she thought the meeting with Hec Boehm was probably a good time to smell as fancy as she looked.
The fragrance in the bars had been blended by her personal perfumer back in New York. It seemed like something from another world now, the idea of a perfumer. It had been another world, a world she would probably never see again. The fragrance of rose and lemon and frankincense flooded the room and transported her momentarily home. It smelled like the New York town house, like youth, like evenings by the lake with her mother, nights at the theater and dancing in the Astors’ ballroom. It made her remember how it felt to sleep on fresh linen sheets, how it felt to pull the bell cord and summon one of the maids to fetch for her. She would have liked to be able to summon a maid to comb the knots from her hair, she thought now as she struggled to pull the comb through the tangle.
Then she heard the key in the lock.
“I’ve given Becky permission to let them eat as much dessert as they want,” Matt called as he closed the door. “That should keep them down there for a good long while.”
“Are they safe?” she called back, feeling a sudden burst of anxiety now that he wasn’t with them.
“LeFoy is there now. He’s armed. It’s a private room, so he can watch the only entrance, so they should be safe enough.” He pulled back the curtain.
She saw his gaze drop. Her body was clear beneath the soapy water. As always, the breath was pulled from her lungs by the way he looked at her. His hunger for her was never satisfied. She hoped it never would be.
“Brush my hair?” she asked huskily, holding out the comb. “I can’t get the tangles out.”
His golden-brown eyes smoldered while they lingered on the swell of her breasts as they broke the water. Without tearing his gaze from her breasts, he pulled a chair up behind the tub and took the comb from her fingers. He was clumsy but gentle as he pulled the teeth of the comb through her hopelessly knotted curls.
“How are you feeling?” he asked. She could tell when the sight of her breasts bobbing in the water distracted him, because the comb would pause for a moment. And his voice had that tight sound it got when he was feeling lusty.
“Better now,” she sighed, closing her eyes. She always felt better when he was near.
