Midnight Secrets

by Janelle Taylor

  “Yes, because Clay left his half of the claim to me. He sent a map and will before his death. Besides, the location is listed in the Denver General Land Office.”

  She gaped at him. “You… own half of this claim?”

  Her reaction told him she hadn’t known that fact. “I was Clay’s best friend, like his family. He has no other kin… You’re saying you ran only because you’d be exposed Monday and because you thought I’d lied to you?”

  Ginny noticed how he quickly changed the subject. “For those reasons and to save my father’s life. Frank said you three were in the Army together, were friends. How can you believe Father could do such a thing?”

  “Your father isn’t the same man you left at thirteen, Ginny. He’s ridden through hell a few times since then and it’s obviously changed him. I suspected him because of Clay’s last message to me.” He repeated what the letter had said. “Clay didn’t trust him anymore and I can’t tell you why, other than those curious accidents and Matt’s strange behavior. I do know Matt didn’t file the claim until after Clay was dead, and he put it in your name. It seemed to me as if he disappeared for his own gain instead of helping the law find Clay’s killer. He didn’t even ask for my help in solving the crime. What was I supposed to think, Ginny? And how could I confess such things to you right after we finally reconciled? I didn’t want to lose you, at least no sooner than necessary. I wanted as much time with you as possible before I had to confess something that might tear us apart again. I was going to tell you everything when I saw you Friday night, but that didn’t happen. You left before I had the chance.” Stone grasped her by the forearms. “Don’t you understand I was afraid of losing you because of who I am and what I must do? If Matt’s guilty, I have to arrest him and see him punished. I owe it to Clay. But if he isn’t to blame, I’ll help clear him and protect him; I promise. What more can you expect of me? I’ve sworn to bring in the killer.”

  His words moved her. He had acted unwisely but from good motives, something she understood from her own foolish actions. “Believe me, Stone, it isn’t my father.”

  “Wanting that to be true doesn’t make it so. This is the third father to come between us. I hated to defeat Charles Avery because I knew it would hurt my Anna. I hated to desert Ben, but I knew staying home would hurt my Johanna more. Now I hate to chase Matt because it can hurt you, maybe destroy our future together. Please don’t let that happen, Ginny. I love you and need you. Mercy, woman, why do you always put me in a bind?”

  She wanted to fling herself into his arms and kiss him, but more needed to be said first. “Don’t you think my father was also hurt, afraid, and confused? His partner and friend was murdered and somebody tried to kill him. He probably knows even you don’t believe him and are chasing him. If a friend doubts his innocence, why should he think the law would believe him? He could be dead and buried somewhere.”

  Stone pulled her into his arms. “Don’t cry, love. I’m sure he’s alive. If we can only find him and learn the truth, things will be all right.”

  Ginny leaned back and looked into his eyes. “What if he can’t prove he’s innocent, Stone? What if Clay’s killer is never found? Can he be arrested and imprisoned on suspicions alone?”

  “No, Ginny, he can’t. But he’s made it look bad for himself, so he’ll be investigated. Have you told me everything you know?”

  “Yes. It’s Frank Kinnon’s wicked deed; I’m certain of it.” She related how the man had behaved and what he’d said when he’d discovered Stone was back in town. “He wants this claim so badly, he’s obsessed.”

  Stone stroked her flushed and dampened cheeks as he reasoned, “Why would he kill Matt and Clay before they revealed where it was? If he’d gotten the truth from them, he’d have the mine going by now. He wouldn’t still be searching for clues or be riled by my return.”

  “I realize it doesn’t make sense to kill the only sources of information for something you crave, but I’m sure there’s an explanation. Maybe his men made a mistake in killing both partners. Maybe they didn’t realize both men were in the shack when they fired on it and burned it. Maybe Frank thought he could get to me or to you.” With reluctance she added, “Maybe it wasn’t Frank. Maybe it was a common thief.”

  Stone felt he had to point out that couldn’t have been the case. “Their animals and possessions weren’t stolen,” he explained. “And the two men inside were shot then burned beyond recognition for some reason I can’t figure. But I suppose a spark from the fire or a lantern shattered during the shooting could have set off the blaze. Shacks of dry wood fire up fast and easy. It’s possible the fire wasn’t set on purpose, or maybe Matt could have done it afterward to dupe the killer into thinking him dead. They were identified by those belongings left outside. I figured somebody wanted to make certain the remains were believed to be those of Mathew Marston and Clayton Cassidy.”

  “You mean ‘somebody,’ as in my father?”

  “Yes, Ginny, that’s how it looked to me. I guessed Matt’s things were left behind as proof he was there, but we both know he wasn’t the second victim. I discovered that by the fact, he registered the claim days after the incident. The minute I heard V. A. Marston, I knew who that was. Matt took off from the shack with nothing, went to Denver and registered the claim, then vanished. You said he wrote to you that he was searching for investors. His claim was safely staked, so why did he flee, Ginny? Where is he now? What’s taking so long to announce the biggest strike this territory has known? With that assay report, he should have investors begging to be part of his new company. Why doesn’t he seek help and protection from the law? What doesn’t he contact me, his new partner? Why didn’t he mention me to you or explain this suspicious mess to you?”

  The speculations didn’t sound good for Ginny’s father. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe Clay didn’t tell him he left his share to you. He must have been afraid for his life or he wouldn’t have sent me the map and told me to wait for him in England. If something hasn’t happened to him, he would have written again by now.”

  “Letters get lost or slowed down or stolen during robberies. You and Johanna left London in late February. Maybe you missed a letter from him.”

  “If so, Ben should have it by now. We asked for all mail to be forwarded to us at the ranch. I was to visit with her before I came here, before she died and everything went crazy. You would have loved her, Stone. She was wonderful, special. I miss her terribly. It wasn’t fair for her to die so young. It wasn’t fair for her to never reach home and make peace with your father.” More tears spilled forth as bittersweet memories filled her head.

  Stone cuddled her in his comforting arms, his hand stroking her back and hair. “That’s how I felt about Clay, Ginny. A best friend is hard to lose and harder to replace. What happens to us if Matt… is guilty?”

  She gave his question serious thought. “Don’t worry, he isn’t.”

  Stone couldn’t help but envy the total faith she had in her father when she had lacked it in him. He told himself she’d had good reason to doubt him, and he didn’t refute her.

  Ginny saw his concerned reaction. She smiled and coaxed, “Don’t worry. Whatever happens won’t affect our relationship. Just don’t be the one to arrest him. Do that much for me, for us. I love you, and I believe you did what you thought was right. We have a lot to learn about each other but we’ll have plenty of time—our whole lives.”

  He almost held his breath as he entreated, “You mean that?”

  She hugged and reassured him, “Yes, Stone. I love you and I’ll marry you. We’ll settle things here and return to Texas to live.”

  “When?”

  His elation and excitement made her smile. “I don’t know how long this will take. What do you think?”

  He deliberated a few moments. “I don’t know. I’ve investigated this several times before and found no clues to lead me to Matt or to the killer. Do you think if we form a company of our own, Matt will show himself
?”

  “If he hears about it, I suppose so. Wouldn’t you think he’d keep his eyes and ears on this area no matter where he is?”

  “I would think so. So you agree to my plan?”

  “Yes, but I prefer to put the mining company in your name until my family in Georgia can be given the news if Father is alive. They think he was killed during the war. Hearing he lived and never contacted them would come as a shock. I’m also sure my stepmother and stepbrother will try to claim part of the earnings. I don’t want to have anything to do with them. I told you how they cut me off when I was stranded in England.”

  “I’ll handle any problems for you.”

  “Thank you.” A whinny from her horse pulled her eyes in that direction but nothing appeared wrong and Stone didn’t go to investigate. “Why don’t we get inside? I’m starved and tired. We can talk more later.”

  “That’s a good idea. I’ll lasso the ladder and pull it down.”

  “No need.” She walked to where bushes and vines grew along the rocks. Her fingers probed until she located a rope. “Yank on this.”

  Stone obeyed and the ladder released and lowered noisily to within a few feet of the ground. “Clever.” He whistled for his horse and the well-trained animal came galloping forward from the woods.

  “Father made one like this for me when I was a child. I had a small house in a big tree and this is how I reached it. I loved doing boy’s things; that’s why I needed to go off to school to learn to become a lady.”

  Ginny gathered her supplies and possessions while Stone unsaddled both horses and fetched his gear. He steadied the shaky ladder while she climbed to the top. She lowered the rope he had given to her to drape over her shoulder. He tied cloth sacks to it and she hauled them upward. The action was repeated until all the goods were on the wooden landing.

  Stone scaled the squeaking rungs with caution and agility, his weight heavy on them. He pulled up the device and locked it in place, to tower above the cabin. “Now, we won’t be disturbed or endangered. Chuune will guard your horse for us.”

  She glanced down at the reddish-brown sorrel with its light mane and tail. “What does his name mean? I presume it’s Indian.”

  “It’s Apache for friend, and he’s surely been that for years.”

  “He’s magnificent and smart and loyal.”

  “Like my new best friend: Miss Virginia Anne Marston.”

  Ginny smiled and hugged him. “You’re my best chuune, too.”

  Thunder rumbled in the distance and Stone glanced that way. “Going to rain later. Let’s get inside and check for any clues.”

  Ginny felt the threat of a powerful storm, but not from nature. It came from intense emotions building within her body at having the man she loved near.

  Stone opened the door and pushed it ajar. With fingers grazing his pistol butts, his keen eyes scanned the interior. “It’s safe.”

  The cabin was dim because the wooden shutters were closed, the walls were of thick logs, and their bodies blocked much of the sunshine. Her eyes adjusted and her gaze moved about the last home of her missing father.

  “I’ll open the windows for fresh air and light,” he said, cognizant of what she must be experiencing.

  While he did his task, Ginny carried in their belongings and closed the door. She glanced around once more, trying to envision a southern plantation gentleman in such barren and musty surroundings. It was a big change from Green Oaks and the luxury he had known there. The cabin was small, dusty, and smelly. Its only furnishings were two bunks, a table, two chairs, a stove, and one large cabinet containing dishes, cookware, and supplies. A few garments hung on pegs, looking pathetic in their rumpled and faded state. A pair of well-worn boots with crusted mud and snowy cobwebs rested on the floor near one bed. A deck of old poker cards were scattered on the eating table; more cobwebs displayed themselves there and on the two chairs to tell how long it had been since they’d been used or wiped. Rusty splotches on the stove said it too, hadn’t been used in ages. Everything revealed a layer of thick dust and no fingerprints to indicate they’d been touched recently. A look of long abandonment brought sadness to Ginny’s heart.

  Her somber gaze locked with Stone’s, who’d clearly come to the same conclusions. It seemed obvious, but she said, “He hasn’t been here.”

  “That doesn’t mean he isn’t alive somewhere, love. Have faith.”

  Sensing nothing of her father in the meager room, she walked onto a rock porch out back that was covered by a shed-type roof and supported by two rough poles. There, she noticed rusting prospector equipment: picks and shovels and pans. Overhead were hooks for hanging garments to dry or for suspending meat to cure. She tried to imagine her genteel father living in this rustic setting and working under arduous conditions. He had not been much of an outdoorsman except for occasional hunting, but had become one to be a miner. His hands had been soft and little exposure to sun had not tanned or wrinkled his face. She wondered how he would look when she saw him again after many ravages had worked on him.

  Mathew Marston had lived and worked as a prosperous and refined southern gentleman. What she saw here told of a man who knew hard work and sacrifice, a man without wealth and comforts, a man without the amenities of civilization, almost without the bare essentials and necessities for survival. Fate in the guise of bitter and greedy war had taken so much from him and changed him, as Stone suggested. He had endured prison and many losses and hardships, so many denials and torments, according to Stone. He had lacked a devoted family during his dark hours to give him support. He had been compelled to accept and adjust to his losses alone. She hadn’t noticed this shocking effect on him in his letters, but this harsh setting exposed it in vivid and heartrending detail. Oh, Father, what has life done to you? Tears eased down her cheeks, and Stone hurried to wrap his loving arms around her for solace. When her weeping was controlled, she told him what she had been thinking and feeling.

  Stone had also been in deep thought about the past. He had called to mind days and nights with Clay and Matt. “It’s like this for many men now, love; war does that. Being on the wrong or losing side makes it worse. A man’s pride takes a beating; when that happens, either he gets stronger and tougher or he gives up. But Matt was a good and kind man. I’m sure I misjudged him. I wasn’t in any frame of mind to be clearheaded; I allowed Clay’s curious accusations to cloud my wits. Something must have happened after I saw them that last time to cause trouble between them.”

  Ginny stiffened and paled. She sealed her gaze with Stone’s and asked, “What if Clay is the one still alive? What if he filed the claim? What if my father wrote that letter before he was killed and Clay mailed it to me?” Ginny shook her head. “That isn’t right; it had news of Clay’s murder in it.”

  Stone tensed, too. “Are you sure it was in your father’s handwriting?”

  She mused a moment. “Almost positive. But I didn’t examine it closely. I had no reason to suspect it wasn’t from him. If Clay wrote it, why send me a map? Why register the land in my name?”

  “If Matt was in the shack, you’d be Clay’s partner. And putting your name on the deed would conceal him as the survivor. He could be waiting for you to get worried and come looking for Matt. Maybe he didn’t want to put bad news in a letter.”

  “We’ll have to wait and see who shows up, or if anybody does.”

  “You’re right. No need to waste energy on wild thoughts. I want to check out those woods, make sure nothing looks unusual there. I’ll be back soon, love.”

  Ginny looked at the verdant trees. She noticed a stack of chopped wood that was rotting, the sharp cliffs that would guard their flank and sides, and a rapid waterfall shooting over one precipice. She walked to that lovely scene, silently complimenting her father for selecting an easily defensible site with wood and water sources. With adequate supplies, a person under siege from villain or weather could hold out here for a long time. Between two jutting rocks was a hunk of gradually dissolving
soap that would have been gone by now if not for its protective shelter. It and a raggedy drying cloth lying over a limb implied the spot was used for bathing. As Stone joined her, she moved closer and stuck her fingers under the rush of water, then shrieked and jerked them away. “It’s almost freezing! I need a bath desperately, but I’m going to start a fire and warm water first.”

  Stone locked his arms around her waist and smiled when she leaned back against him. “Sounds good to me, but I’m used to washing off in cold streams and icy creeks. I’ll be done before the first bubble rises in your pot.”

  She turned in his embrace to find him grinning. “You aren’t serious?” He nodded and chuckled. “You’re going to stand under that arctic flow?”

  “Yep, soon as I shuck these clothes.” He unbuckled and put aside his weapons. He doffed his boots and clothing and stepped under the cascade of invigorating liquid to wet his body. When his hair and body were wet, he stepped from beneath the flow to tend his task. With his back to her, he worked the soap free of its prison and whistled as he lathered himself.

  “Ouch!” she wailed. “How can you stand that? Just the spray and wind from it are chilling me.”

  Stone glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “It’s not bad. You get used to it fast after the first shock. Livens you, woman, and cools you off. I need that about now or we won’t get supper anytime soon.”

  Eat? her mind challenged as she stared at him and let his voice wash over her. Who could be hungry for food at a time like this? She couldn’t think or do anything at this moment except gaze at the irresistible man before her. His darkly tanned body appealed to all her senses. His flesh was taut and smooth. Few scars were visible and none were detracting. His broad chest was hairless. He was lithe and sleek. His firm muscles rippled with each movement. Her gaze drifted over strong shoulders, powerful arms, narrow waist, firm buttocks, and long legs. Fiery desire attacked her. On impulse she yanked off her clothes and joined him, backing into the flow. She gasped in shock as the cold water dashed over her skin and created goosebumps and shivers. “You li-lied, St-Stone; it’s li-like ice.”