Mountain Dawn

by Maureen Child

  But at least the man had kept his word. He'd returned their hard-earned money. She would think of some explanation to give her husband. Perhaps she would just say that a sudden burst of kindness had induced the man to give her the money he'd won from her husband in a poker game.

  Kindness! She leaned against the wall of the ship and looked at the door she'd just left. Her stomach tightened. Her throat closed. Dear God. Please don't let my husband find out.

  Behind the closed door, Harry Longdon put his hands behind his head and smiled up at the ceiling. He could still see her, trying to sneak out the door, thinking he was asleep. He laughed. What a sight she'd been.

  Ah, well. He reached for a cigar. For the first time since boarding the damned riverboat, his body was at ease. It was truly a wonder how women could become so "accommodating" when it suited them. Striking the match, he told himself he'd been too generous. There'd been no need to give her back all the money he'd won from her husband.

  He drew deeply on the cigar and watched the end glow red. As he blew out a stream of smoke, he reminded himself that the little bit he'd given her was a paltry amount, all things considered. Harry'd done very well indeed on this infernal trip, though he was glad it would be over in another day or so. He could afford to spend some of his newly earned money on an evening of pleasure with a "willing" woman.

  Harry laughed aloud, got out of bed, and poured himself a tumbler full of whiskey. After all….who knew how long it would take him to find Bridget Dugan O'Dell?

  #

  Treasure Gap, Eamon thought with a grin. A fine name. No doubt it was an omen. Once he'd talked to Bridget, mayhaps he'd dawdle about for a bit. See what he could find.

  He hitched his bag into a more comfortable position and put more bounce into his weary steps. If he just put a good foot under him, he could make a few miles before bedding down for the night.

  A quick glance around him at the darkening countryside made him wish he'd brought a gun with him. He shook his head and tried to avoid looking at the lengthening shadows. In a country this big, saints alone knew what could be lurkin' in the darkness. An uncomfortable itch between his shoulder blades, like the feeling of being watched, niggled at him.

  Well, he was no child to be frightened of goblins and the like… but surely it would do no harm to keep an eye out for a likely lookin' stick to carry with him on his travels.

  #

  The Lazy Dog was closed and bolted. No sense in keeping the place open, Cherry told herself. Hell, she was pretty sure that she and Joe, her bartender, were the only people awake in town.

  Besides, it was good business to shut down every once in a while. Made the men even more eager to part with their money. She smiled and flipped her long red braid off her shoulder. Not that they needed much encouragement.

  Treasure Gap wasn't the first mining town she'd set up shop in and it probably wouldn't be the last, but one day, when she'd managed to save up enough money… well, then she'd walk away from the business without another thought. Maybe she'd even be able to find a man she could trust enough to marry. She would like to have some kids, like that little Jessie Fallon.

  Cherry smiled and picked up the delicate china cup and saucer in front of her. That kid was a beauty, she acknowledged, and so was her pa. Cherry still couldn't get over the fact that Jacob Fallon had actually cared about poor Tina. She sipped at her tea and grimaced. Cold. Setting the cup back down, Cherry told herself that she couldn't be too old if there were still things in life that surprised her.

  She reached for her deck of tarot cards and leaned back. As she ruffled the cards in her nimble fingers, she considered Bridget, too. Now, that woman was a wonder. She chuckled. Cherry had never in her life had a lady offer to be her friend.

  "What's so funny?"

  She looked up at Joe, who stood over her with a small, dainty teapot in his big hand. Pushing her cup closer to him. Cherry answered, "Nothin' really. Just thinkin' on Bridget.”

  The big man smiled as he filled her cup. "Yeah. She's a pistol, ain't she?" Finished, he lowered himself into the chair opposite his boss. "Her man, the marshal? He's all right, too."

  "Yeah, I think you're right, Joe."

  Carefully Cherry began to layout the tarot cards in a familiar pattern. Joe sat back and watched. Never fails, he told himself, whenever she's puzzled by somethin', she pulls out them cards and looks for answers. The hell of it was, she was right too many times to suit him.

  Then a random thought suddenly struck him, and he spoke, shattering the silence. "You know what's worryin' me?"

  “Hmmm? What?" She glanced up, then went back to her cards.

  "Mrs. Mac." Joe leaned his elbows on the shining table and stared at Cherry until she finally met his gaze. “That woman's all of a sudden got so damned friendly, it's downright scary. Fair gives me the shakes."

  Cherry laughed, and Joe noticed, not for the first time, just how pretty she was without all the war paint she usually wore.

  "Hell, Joe," she said, "don't worry about that. As soon as the town gets back to normal, forgets about the fire and such, so will she."

  "Lordy, I hope so," he said with a shiver. “Ever' time she smiles at me, I get a nervous itch."

  Cherry slapped a card down on the table and cursed softly.

  "What is it?" he asked, staring blankly at the worn, old cards with their strange drawings. She tapped at a card with one long red fingernail. “This. The Tower."

  Joe stared. It was a tower all right. With lightning bolts hittin' it and people fallin' out of the sky. "What's it mean?"

  “Trouble.” Cherry pushed the cards together impatiently, successfully hiding the Tower card among the rest. "It means trouble's comin', Joe." She stared at him, and he felt a chill crawl up his back. "Big trouble."

  Chapter Nineteen

  It was dark when Bridget slipped quietly from her bed. A glance at Jacob told her he was still sleeping soundly. She smiled and hummed softly to herself as she left the bedroom. After grabbing up her shawl and the empty bucket sitting in the stone sink, she soundlessly opened the back door and crossed the small space of ground to the well.

  Setting the pail down on the well's edge, Bridget threw her shawl around her shoulders and tied the tails in a knot over her breasts. She breathed deeply, enjoying the fresh morning air. It was her favorite time of day. She loved the wondrous quiet that layover the town, the stillness that held the world at bay just before dawn.

  The last few stars were just beginning to melt away into the slowly lightening sky when the back door opened behind her.

  She turned and smiled a welcome at Jacob. Naked to the waist, he'd taken the time only to pull on his pants before going in search of her. Bridget's breath left her in a gentle puff, and she wondered if she would ever grow tired of the sight of him.

  He walked unsteadily across the rocky patch of ground, his bare feet stepping as carefully as possible. When he reached her side, he closed his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.

  "It's too cold for you out here, yet," he said softly. "You should've awakened me. I would have gone for the water."

  She laid her cheek against his broad chest, still warm from sleep. "I like to be out here this early," she told him, "before the town wakes. It's lovely."

  Jacob shivered slightly and held her closer. "It is, isn't it?" From somewhere down the road, they heard a door slam. It sounded unnaturally loud in the early-morning hush.

  Jacob dragged the pine-scented air deep into his lungs and stared off at the eastern horizon. The faintest hint of lavender touched the sky. "Sun's coming up," he said softly.

  She turned in his arms and stood, her back to his chest to watch the approaching dawn. Bridget laid her palms on Jacob's strong forearms and knew she'd never been so content. As they waited, the eastern sky grew slowly brighter. The lavenders became pink, softening the edges of the hovering clouds with an almost eerily bright glow of color. As the pink became peach before turning a deep orange, Jacob
whispered, "I'll be leaving right after breakfast."

  Bridget only nodded. In the two days since his marriage proposal, they'd talked over several different ideas on how to deal with Bridget's past. Finally, though, Jacob had convinced her that the only way to truly settle the matter once and for all was for him to travel to Fort Benton and send wires to the influential men he still counted as friends.

  "Will you be gone long?" she asked.

  "No." His voice was as hushed as the morning. "Three, perhaps four days at the most."

  "Won't it take every bit of that time just to reach Fort Benton?"

  He kissed her temple. "No. This time I'll be alone. Riding the fastest horse I can find. The trip shouldn't take more than a day and a half each way. I'll send the wires and wait for an answer. As soon as I have it, I'll be back."

  She nodded.

  Jacob seemed to sense her worry and gave her a gentle squeeze. "Everything will work out. You'll see."

  Bridget fought down the tiny prickle of doubt that crept along her spine. It would do no good to keep worryin' over the problem. She'd done all she could now. She'd told Jacob, and at least she didn't have to face what might happen alone. Still, Bridget couldn't help wishing that the judgment that was coming could be put off for a bit. After all, she told herself glumly, "A turkey never voted for an early Christmas."

  #

  "It's already been two days," Cotton told her. "Why, he'll prob'ly be back in no time."

  "Aye, I suppose." Bridget couldn't help worrying. She'd tried to put it all out of her mind, but it didn't work. No matter what, her thoughts kept returning to Jacob and the news he would be bringing back with him.

  She glanced up at Cotton and smiled determinedly. The poor man had no idea what was going on. He'd only been told that Jacob had business in Fort Benton.

  "I'm sure you're right, Cotton," she said and was glad to see his lips curve upward, "so I'll stop behavin' like a flighty child." She gathered up her slate and its pencil and stood. "Besides, it's time I was feedin' Jessie her noon meal."

  Table legs scraped on the wood floor as Cotton rose to his feet. "Yeah. Reckon I best get back to the office and go through that new stack of wanted posters." He shook his head slowly. "I didn't have no idea that bein' a lawman would mean so dang much paperwork."

  Bridget chuckled as she walked him to the door. "Well, you've been such a good teacher, in no time atall I'll be able to help you."

  He grinned in response and wagged a finger at her. "And don't you think I won't let ya!" Cotton shoved his hat on and grabbed the doorknob. "Now, you need anything, you just give a holler."

  "I will."

  Cotton pulled the door wide and stopped short. A tall, dark man stood on the wide porch, his knuckles raised to knock. He carried a worn bag that looked to be stuffed with clothing and a thick, stout branch.

  “Who're you?" the deputy asked quietly. With the marshal gone for a few days, it was up to him to keep Bridget and Jessie safe.

  The stranger cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders perceptibly. "I'm lookin' for Bridget… O'Dell," he answered, returning Cotton's suspicious stare.

  Bridget peered around her friend's shoulder and felt her jaw drop. “Eamon!” She pushed past Cotton and held out both hands, delighted to see an old, familiar face.

  Eamon Flannagan dropped his burdens, grabbed Bridget, and lifted her high in the air. "Bridget, me darlin'. 'Tis grand to see ya."

  Cotton stirred uneasily and glanced over his shoulder at Jessie, who was watching the scene with wide-eyed interest.

  The child obviously didn't know the man. He turned his gaze back to the couple on the porch.

  "Eamon." Bridget ordered, her hands on his shoulders. “Put me down this instant'"

  The dark man grinned but did as she asked.

  Arms folded across his chest, hat pulled low over narrowed eyes, Cotton leaned negligently against the doorjamb and waited.

  Bridget smoothed down the front of her dress and looked up at the deputy. "Cotton, this is an old friend of mine. From home. Eamon Flannagan, this is a new friend, Cotton Drake."

  The two men stared at each other, and Cotton didn't miss Eamon's momentary pause when he noticed the badge on Cotton's shirtfront. The deputy also noted Bridget's sudden edginess. Nevertheless, Cotton held out his hand. When the other man shook it, the deputy asked solemnly, "You gonna be in town long, Flannagan?"

  Eamon pulled his hand back, shoved it in his pocket, then flicked a sidelong glance at Bridget before saying, "Well, now, I only just got here, Deputy."

  "Uh-huh."

  Bridget looked from one to the other of the men and knew it would be better if she got Eamon inside quickly. Smiling at Cotton, she said, "We'll be seein' you later? For supper?"

  Cotton's eyes never left Eamon, but he answered, "Sure, Bridget, I'll be here." He watched in silence as Bridget ushered the man into the cabin and shut the door. Stepping down ' off the porch, Cotton walked toward the jailhouse. He didn't like it. Bridget was uneasy. He gave the house behind him another quick look, then shrugged and continued on his way. He'd be close by if she needed anything.

  Inside the cabin Bridget stood away from Eamon and watched him curiously as he deposited his things on the corner bed. When he turned and grinned, she didn't return it. For some reason, Bridget had a feeling that Eamon's appearance in Treasure Gap was far from chance.

  "What is it, Eamon? What's happened?"

  His ready smile faded, his lips thinning into a grim line. He looked pointedly over at Jessie, standing by the table, clutching her rag doll tightly.

  Reading his silent message, Bridget gave the little girl a cookie and ushered her out the back door. “You play for a bit, darlin'. Then we'll have a little somethin' to eat."

  As soon as the door closed behind her, Eamon spoke. "I've a message for you. From Mary Kate."

  The chill she'd experienced earlier in the day came back with a rush. Somehow, Bridget knew that what she was about to hear would bring even more trouble down on her.

  "I'm not sayin' she's right, mind you," Eamon added as he moved to the table and sank down onto a chair, “but I swore to her that I’d find you."

  Bridget sat down opposite him and tried to will her thudding heart to slow. "And so you have. Now, tell me, what is it?"

  He lowered his gaze to the smooth tabletop where his fingers moved in nervous circles. "It's Colleen. And Frances."

  She held her breath.

  He looked up. "They're dead."

  Bridget stood so abruptly, her chair clattered to the floor, and she felt the blood draining from her face. Dead? Fearless Colleen and poor, quiet Frances? "How?" she managed to ask.

  "Accidents." Eamon shook his head and frowned. “That's why I think Mary Kate's gettin' all frothed up for no purpose."

  “What kind of accidents?"

  He sighed and stood up. After taking off his hat, he sent it sailing onto the bed with his other things. "Colleen was run down by a brewery wagon. A few days later Frances drowned in the river."

  "Holy Mother of God," Bridget said in a hushed tone. Her hand flew to her mouth but couldn't stem the tide of mumbled words pouring out. "Accidents. A wagon? Colleen? No. And ah, poor Frances. How could she drown?"

  "People do," he interrupted.

  She shook her head. "Not when they stay clear of water as Frances always did." Bridget well remembered how, even on the hottest days back in Kerry Patch, Frances wouldn't go near the river. "No, Eamon. Mary Kate was right. Somethin' is terribly wrong." Bridget stopped a moment, then said, “What did Mary Kate think? Did she have any ideas atall?"

  “Nah.” He pushed his hand through his unruly black hair. "She only wanted you to be warned. She'd no idea what was happening." Eamon looked at the frightened woman opposite him. "She was scared, though, I'll grant you that. So scared in fact, that she left town the same day I did."

  “Where… ?"

  "She had Dermot take her to Chicago. She's got a house full of broth
ers to watch out for her there."

  "Good." Bridget turned and stared down into the cold fireplace. "She'll be safe, then."

  "She'd probably be safe in Kerry Patch as well. You've no proof that this is anything more than terrible accidents."

  It was true. There was no proof. Only the crawling suspicion and fear that had dogged her every movement since leaving the prison wagon. No, proof or not, Mary Kate was right. Someone was out there. She'd felt it for days now. But there was nothin' to do but wait for it.

  "Bridget?” Eamon asked anxiously. "Are you all right?"

  She took a deep breath and straightened up. Whatever was comin' wouldn't be stopped by wishing. Now that she'd been warned, she at least could be careful. A mirthless chuckle escaped her as she remembered her father's dire warning: "If you lie down with dogs, you'll rise with fleas."

  Shaking her head slightly, Bridget said aloud, "Aye, Eamon. I'll be fine. Would ya call Jessie in and I'll fix us all a bite."

  #

  Harry fought to control the laughter that threatened to explode from his chest. Lifting his coffee cup, he took a long drink of the strong, hot liquid and flashed a quick look at the man in the corner. He still couldn't believe how easy it had been to find his quarry. Why, he'd been prepared to search for Bridget Dugan for however long it took, but she'd practically fallen into his lap.

  It had been a stroke of luck to overhear the tall man with a badge bragging to a waiter about his upcoming marriage. Imagine, marryin' Irish trash. Harry shook his head slowly, his amusement dying. That damned fool marshal had even sent a wire to St Louis, inquirin' about the Dugan girl's trial. Huh! As if that would make a difference.

  Harry set his cup back down and deliberately kept his gaze away from the man. With a frown, he remembered that the telegraph operator, with a little encouragement from Harry, had also said that this Marshal Fallon sent off a wire to some senator or other, too.

  The bitch would prob'ly escape jail. Wouldn't you know a woman would be able to find herself some poor rich fool willing to sell himself to the devil for her?