Claim: A Novel of Colorado (The Homeward Trilogy)

by Bergren, Lisa T.

  She shook her head, instantly disagreeing. “No, Daniel, no. Don’t you remember?” she pleaded. “Remember that Reid made me …” She swallowed hard and brought her fist to her lips. I have no right. No right to ask him.

  Daniel stiffened and frowned down at her. “Moira, that trap, it happened once. It’s not likely to happen again.”

  “You don’t know that! Reid’s gone, yes, but who will take his place? They killed them, Daniel. Every last one of them. The sheriff. The deputies. Picked them off as surely as you just picked off those bottles.”

  He stared down at her for several long moments and then lifted his hand to cradle the right side of her face. “I must do this, Moira. It will help me resolve …” He looked up and away, toward the setting sun.

  “Resolve what?” she begged, taking his hand, hoping she might urge him to reveal whatever mountain blocked his path.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Let me fix this. Finish this. Then we can move on.”

  She dropped his hand and walked down the hill, returning to the line of people awaiting food, knowing he was right behind her. The man who had approached Moira and narrowly missed coming to blows with Daniel stayed on the other side of the long tables from them. Moira and Daniel moved down the line, quickly filling their plates. Across from them, Mr. Weaver, a Westcliffe banker, introduced himself.

  “You’ve been working out at the Circle M, haven’t you?” Mr. Weaver asked.

  “For the last few months, yes,” Daniel returned.

  “Bryce has told me about you. Says you’re a fine man.”

  “Well, you can’t always believe what you hear,” Daniel deflected.

  Moira tried to keep her expression blank and continued to fill her plate.

  “Well, what I hear is all good. And today, some men have told me that you have good aim too.”

  Moira stole a glance his way. Daniel raised an eyebrow in Weaver’s direction and gave him a slight shrug. “I hold my own.”

  “Bryce tells me you have a natural ability to lead. That you’re a man of integrity and loyalty.”

  They paused at the end of the line, letting others pass them by. Clearly the man wanted something of him. Moira tried to urge her feet to move, to get away from this conversation and Daniel, but it was as if she were mesmerized.

  Daniel’s frown deepened. “Is there something you wanted to say, Mr. Weaver?”

  “Why yes,” Mr. Weaver returned, giving him a jowly smile. “As town council president, I want to officially offer you a job. As our new county sheriff.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  4 August 1888

  Three miles out of St. Elmo, Colorado

  The shot breezed by his head, so close he could feel the heat. Dominic froze, and then slowly lifted his hands as he looked about. “Whoa, whoa,” he said, “I’m not looking to do any harm.” He could see nothing but the dance of pale green aspen leaves and the massive white trunks of an old stand of trees.

  Another bullet came whizzing toward him, this time landing in the dirt at his feet. He jumped and moved deeper into the aspen grove. “My name’s St. Clair!” he yelled. “I’m on my way to see Peter Vaughn. He asked me to come!”

  He scanned the trees, desperately trying to find his assailant as he eased his revolver from its holster. If someone was going to shoot at him again, they’d best be ready to get shot themselves. He was not one to—

  There. His breath left him in a rush as a wild creature came toward him, hair flying in a mass of thick brown waves, backlit by the sun. She was a tiny thing, but her face was a mask of consternation and concentration. “What’d you say your name is?” she called, her eyes still peering at him down the bead of her rifle.

  “St. Clair. Dominic St. Clair.”

  She squinted a bit harder, as if she didn’t like his answer. “And you’re here at Peter’s invitation?” Her tone was clipped, but her words were educated, cultured.

  “I am. I met him in Gunnison, him and his boy.”

  She paused for a breath, then lifted her face off the rifle. From twenty paces away, Nic could see she had an angel’s face, with high cheekbones and massive brown eyes and long lashes. “You here to help him on his claim?”

  “I hope so.”

  “So, where is he?”

  “He’s not here?”

  “No,” she said indifferently. “He’s not.” She studied him, and he admired her round eyes wreathed in long lashes. “Sorry about the warning shots. Promised Peter I’d keep any claim jumpers away in his absence.” With that, she tucked her rifle in a sheath at her back and turned to move up the hill.

  “Wait,” Nic called. “Wait!”

  She ignored him, trudging up the ravine like a goat on a mountain. He panted and rushed after her, losing her in the trees, then catching sight of her again across a small meadow. “Wait! What’s your name?”

  She stopped and turned to face him. “It’s none of your business. Now quit following me! You’ve left Vaughn’s land and moved onto mine. I’ll thank you to return to his.”

  He gave her his friendliest smile, but his brow knit in consternation as he put both hands out. “Might we not be neighborly? I will be here awhile.”

  “I have few friends,” she said. Then, so softly he could barely hear her, “And you …” Her words trailed away. He watched as she clamped her lips shut and then turned to walk away, disappearing between the massive pines.

  If he hadn’t paused, he would have missed her silent companion, an Indian man about his own height, in traditional beaded clothing and long hair, braided to one side. They stood there for a long moment, regarding each other; then the Indian turned and followed the woman into the trees.

  He was beginning to see why Vaughn might need another man about.

  Nic sighed, turned around, and headed back to the aspens, intent on finding his way to Vaughn’s claim. Twenty minutes later, following a sparkling, narrow river that ran clear with sweet water, he reached a tiny cabin. It had to be the Vaughn claim. He called out a greeting, but the place was obviously deserted. Nic tentatively opened the door and peered inside. In the corner was a small stove with a pipe that rose crookedly. Beside it was a table with a washtub, two pans, a tin of coffee, and a tin of salt. Two beds were crammed in the far corner, barely enough room for a father and son. Where was he to sleep? He fingered the doorframe, noting the splintering, rotting wood.

  Nic turned to look behind him and his eyes widened and he felt the tug of a small smile. The view was marvelous from here. Mountains of the Divide stretched out before him, barren-topped peaks weaving into thick, green forests. To the right, across a narrow, tight valley floor, a small waterfall fell a good hundred feet, even this late in the summer. Twenty paces away was the creek, easy access for both the cabin and the mine, he hoped. He turned and made his way up a dirt path, through another small grove of trees and around a massive granite boulder.

  He pulled up short, before the old mine’s entrance. Hand on the top beam, he leaned down and looked in. The tunnel went a good distance into the side of the mountain before disappearing into the dark. Nic reached for the lamp that hung from a peg by the side and shook it. Empty. He looked about. Hopefully Peter was bringing supplies with him.

  Nic thought of the cabin beyond the big boulder. Maybe he could add on a room, have a little space of his own. He shook his head. What was he doing here? It was as if he were driven by some unseen force. It was promising, sure, and pretty up here. But mining cabins were rough, lonely places through the cold winter. And deadly. More than one miner had been taken out by an avalanche or frozen solid by week after week of harsh weather.

  A shiver ran down his spine. Peter Vaughn had to show up soon, or he’d have no choice but to journey on and face his sister and her husband. He grimaced. No, he wasn’t ready for that either. It’d be far better to help Peter dig out his gold for a time and have a decent bundle before he made contact with his sister. No sense in her knowing he’d blown his inheritance.
/>
  His eyes moved to the trees, and he thought of the woman and her Indian companion. Who were they? What was their story? And where were the Vaughns? Maybe someone in town could tell him.

  o

  Daniel rode with Bryce to the Conquistador site the following day. South and west of them, Generals Palmer and McAllister, founders of Silver Cliff and Westcliffe, were none too happy about the foundations of a new settlement, but Bryce ignored them. Conquistador would serve the residents on this end of the valley, even if it always was “a tiny town with a big name,” as Bryce said.

  Daniel was still chewing over his words, deciding what to say to Bryce about accepting Mr. Weaver’s offer of the position as sheriff. The position had been vacant since Reid Bannock had ambushed and killed Sheriff Olsbo and his men—and made Moira watch—three months prior. Again he felt the tear of anguish, between Moira’s fears for his safety and his own increasing desire to take the position and finish the business that kept them apart. It might all be a moot point anyway, he mused. No doubt Palmer and McAllister would offer their own men for the nomination, and once a little digging had occurred, the valley’s citizens would know exactly who and what Daniel was. There were certainly many sheriffs in western towns who had less-than-perfect pasts, but was Westcliffe a town that would tolerate what he had done?

  “I’ve been having second thoughts about taking the sheriff position, Bryce,” he said at last. “Though I appreciate your backing, I would wager it isn’t entirely warranted.”

  Swaying in the saddle, Bryce frowned and looked over at him. “You’re capable, Daniel. Smart and strong—everything we need in a sheriff. Why not go after it?”

  “I’ve done things … things I’m not proud of. It’d come out eventually.”

  Bryce absorbed his words for a moment; then, “Haven’t we all? The question is: Who are you now? What I see is a fine, upstanding man. Someone who went through a lot to save my sister-in-law, as well as aid us, and was wounded himself.” He looked forward for a few paces. “You a believer in Christ, Daniel?”

  Daniel kept his face as subdued as possible. “I am.”

  “The power of grace, as best as I understand it, covers us. No matter how far we’ve roamed, what we’ve done, if we return to the cross and confess, we’re covered.”

  Daniel continued to stare ahead. “You think it’s that simple?”

  “That simple. And that convoluted. But it’s pretty clear in the Bible.”

  Memorized verses cascaded through Daniel’s mind. “Yeah,” he said. “Maybe I’ll need to do that.”

  “How much of your hesitation has to do with Moira?”

  “Moira?”

  “She didn’t seem to take to the idea very well.”

  “Moira and me …” Daniel said, shaking his head. “I’m not certain we’ll ever be anything but friends. I can’t let how she feels about it sway me one way or the other.”

  “I see,” Bryce said. But Daniel could see that he did not.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  With no sign of the Vaughns come morning, Nic hiked down the mountain to retrieve his horse, a strong mare named Daisy, from the mining town’s stables. St. Elmo was barely more than a village of three blocks with many vacant lots—overshadowed by her sister city of Alpine farther down the pass—but if the gold continued to flow, she was bound to be something someday.

  Daisy had been reshod and seemed perky, full up on fresh hay. “What’d you do, starve that girl?” grumbled the grizzled stable keeper, Jed Salinsky, with the glint of a grin in his blue eyes. “Good you came to get ’er today or I would’ve had to tie her out back to keep her from eating everything in the stables.”

  Nic smiled and laid another coin on the shelf between them. “That should cover it.”

  “Much obliged,” said the older man, picking up the money and lifting it in Nic’s direction, and then quickly pocketing it. “You make it up to Vaughn’s mine yesterday?”

  “I did.” Nic crossed his arms. “You know anything about his neighbor up there?”

  Another smile teased the corner of Jed’s eyes. “Mrs. LaCrosse? Sure I do.”

  Nic frowned. “Mrs.? She’s married?”

  Jed moved toward him and gestured to two chairs outside the open door of his tiny office. “Sit a spell with me. Good for a man to know what is at his door, be it a cougar or a kitten.”

  Daisy whinnied when she saw him, but Nic ignored her, his mind on the woman he’d encountered. Jed was enjoying the attention, reveling in his story. He reminded Nic of the storytellers he’d met in saloon after saloon, drawn there for nothing more than an audience, but he knew the best way to find out what he knew was to wait him out. If one rushed a man like this, he’d clam up and refuse to say another word.

  “Sabine LaCrosse was the wife of a miner, up in the Gulch. Was her Indian wit’ her?”

  “An Indian was with her, yes.”

  Jed snorted his disgust. “Ain’t natural, but the Frenchies, they take to Indians like ducks to water, you know. That’un ain’t a Ute, but a Blackfoot. Picked ’im up in Montana territory, when Sabine was but a girl. Story was, the Indian was an orphan, and Sabine’s father found him outside a camp that had been run plumb over by the cavalry, every last one of ’em killed.”

  “He was the lone survivor?”

  “Yes. Sabine’s pa tried to take him to a reservation, but he refused to stay. Kept sneaking off, following them like a loyal dog. Saved ’em, more than once, over the years. Sabine’s pa trapped from here on north until the beaver ran few and far between. He married Sabine off to a miner in Alpine right before he died and the Indian boy was away for a time. But Sabine’s man, he was as mean as a ferret caught by the toe. Beat her. She’d show up in town with black eyes. One time he broke her arm.” He paused, lowering his voice. “But then he did no more.”

  Nic glanced over at him. “What happened?”

  “No one knows for sure. But Sabine’s husband, he went out hunting that winter—’bout four years ago, now—and he never returned.”

  Nic pursed his lips and slid a foot over his other knee. “Common enough in these parts, right?”

  “Right. But that Indian boy, he showed up about then, this time all grown up. He still comes around, now and then. Don’t know where he goes in between.”

  “Do you know the brave’s name?”

  “Nah. ’Round here, people just call him Sabine’s Injun. He’s a quiet sort. Like most of ’em. Just studies you, with those black eyes of ’is.”

  “You think he killed Sabine’s husband?”

  Jed pursed his lips and raised a brow. He tucked his head to one side. “Many things in these mountains can bring a man to death’s door. I’m not one to say. Judge declared ’im dead a couple years ago, and the claim was put in Sabine’s name.”

  Nic stared down the street. Was it simply loyalty that drove the Indian brave to watch over Sabine? He looked at Jed. “She never remarried?”

  Jed raised an eyebrow and grinned. He let out a breathy laugh. “Whooo, no, you won’t see a man up the Gulch besides Vaughn. She keeps most anybody off her property as well as his. Most likely ’fraid of claim jumpers.” He raised a brow. “And for good reason. Not a right place for a gal without a man, ’specially sitting on top a pile o’ gold, if Vaughn’s onto what people say he is.”

  “So … Sabine and the Indian are not common-law mates?”

  Jed stared at him, as if offended by the idea. “Nah. But they share some sort of bond, I tell you what.”

  “And she hasn’t taken to another man?”

  Jed smiled wider, catching on to Nic’s interest. Nic shifted in his seat as Jed sat up and then leaned in his direction. “She’s pretty enough, but she’s a wildcat, that ’un, and her husband, he made her near crazy, wit’ his mean ways. Why, she even shot at a traveling parson a couple years back. Poor man only aimed to minister to her lonely soul. It’s a wonder folks around here let her—”

  Nic held up his hand, deciding he’d heard e
nough of the town gossip. “As you said, this is a tough place to be a woman alone. Maybe it’s best she shoots first, parson or no. Keeps others away, right?”

  “Right,” said Jed slowly.

  Nic rose and put his hat on his head. “Thank you, Jed,” he said, reaching out his hand. “I’m much obliged for the information, and for your care of my horse.”

  “Anytime,” said the man, shaking his hand. “Come back ’gain and I’ll tell ya more about the folks around these parts.”

  Nic nodded, moving on before Jed took the gesture as encouragement to launch into a new story. He needed to get his supplies and return to the cabin before sundown. Hopefully the Vaughns would be there before he arrived. There’d be time enough for stories later.

  o

  Odessa was packing a lunch to take to Bryce that morning and invited Moira to join her. She planned to leave the baby with Cassie, the redheaded neighbor girl who came to help out each day. “We can picnic together, just the four of us,” she said, lifting a teasing brow.

  “Dess …”

  “Come on, it will be fun. It’s not often I get to dine with a potential lawman.”

  “You don’t understand. I’m not even certain he means to stay here in the valley. Maybe he’ll move to Westcliffe.”

  “With the way he looks at you? Come now. Butter this bread. Make yourself useful.”

  Moira stepped up beside her and did as she bade. Odessa pulled a steaming chicken from the roasting pan and set it on the counter to cool. “There now. I’ll cut that up and we can be on our way. Why don’t you put that gold dress on that I got you?”

  Moira sighed. “Dess, you’re not listening. I don’t think Daniel and I will be … together.”

  Odessa’s smile faded and she narrowed her eyes in Moira’s direction. She leaned closer and asked in a hushed tone. “Do you not have feelings for Daniel?”

  “I do. It’s only that … things are not as simple as they seem.”

  Odessa paused. “I had so hoped that you might settle down here, both of you. Be a family, give your baby a father.”