Going Home (Nugget Romance 1)

by Stacy Finz

  “Stu, do you think the city would’ve given us our permits in the first place, if there was a real problem?”

  “Don’t know,” he said. “But I don’t want them taking any chances.”

  By the time she got back to the inn, Nate was waiting for her. He’d allegedly come to check on the progress of the renovation, but Maddy knew his real motivation was to force a sedative down her throat.

  “You need to calm down,” he said, sprawled out on the love seat in her office, both arms spread across the top of the backrest. “Running around like a crazy woman isn’t going to win us a lot of friends.”

  “What do you suggest we do, then? Sit on our hands?”

  “Wait for our sewage expert. I talked to him today and he’ll have something for us after the holidays. Until then, there’s not a whole lot we can do.”

  He let out a breath. “Now, what’s this I hear about you telling Mom that you’re going to Sophie and Mariah’s for Christmas?”

  “Too much to do here.”

  “Ah, that’s bogus, Maddy. Come on, we’ll make it a quick trip—fly to Madison on the twenty-third, be back by the twenty-seventh.”

  “With all this going on?” She waved her hands in the air. “I can’t think of a worse time for me to leave. Someone needs to keep an eye on those Addisons.”

  “Nothing’ll happen over Christmas,” he said, and then a lightbulb seemed to go off in his head. “You got something going on with the cop?”

  She blinked. “First of all, his name is Rhys—not ‘the cop.’ Whatever gave you the idea he and I have plans?” Rhys didn’t do Christmas. Or family. Or commitment. It might be good to remind herself of that from time to time. But she’d gotten him a gift anyway. It didn’t mean anything, just something for him to remember her by when he went back to Houston.

  “Why else would you lie?”

  “If I didn’t lie, she and Dad would’ve come here. Besides, it’s not technically a lie since I’ll probably hang with Sophie and Mariah anyway.”

  “And what would be so terrible about our parents coming here?” He got up and examined the blueprints tacked up on her office wall. When she didn’t answer, he prodded, “Maddy?”

  She sat on the floor in front of him, her legs tucked under her. “Remember that first hotel you operated . . . what was it called?”

  “The Conquistador.”

  “Right, the Conquistador. Remember how much you loved those ancient Saltillo tiles and the crumbling fountain in the courtyard? Remember how you told me that you knew, even though Dad wouldn’t say it, that he thought you were taking on more than you could handle? Yet, you signed the contract anyway, because deep in your gut it felt right, like you’d found your destiny in that old hotel. You thought the Conquistador would be the foundation on which you built your future. And then, eight months later, the place went belly up.” Maddy saw his cheeks grow pink.

  “It took me three months before I could face Dad again,” Nate spoke to himself as much as to her. “Okay, I get it.”

  He got to his feet. “Wanna have lunch at the Ponderosa?”

  “Oh, I can’t. Virgil has a professor friend in Stanford’s history department who wants to make a Donner Party documentary about Nugget. I’m meeting with Virgil to talk about it. He says this professor guy has a big name, lots of published books. I want us to be the project’s key backer and have the film debut here. Wouldn’t that be great?”

  “Awesome.” He rolled his eyes. “But maybe a little premature, given our current predicament.”

  “I know,” she said. “But I’m trying to think positively.”

  “How ’bout dinner?”

  “I have plans to go Christmas shopping with Pam and Amanda.” Maddy also wanted to get new jeans to reward herself for all the yoga she’d been doing. “But I’ll make sure to be back in time for dinner.”

  Virgil lived in a sprawling log cabin in the woods, filled with books, Native American rugs, and local artifacts. Maddy sat on a comfy leather sofa, a fire crackling in the hearth, while Virgil made coffee. In the distance, she could see the sun glimmering off Donner Lake. Now the lake mostly served as a recreational area for fishermen and water-skiers, but in 1846 it had been a death camp for the Donner Party.

  “So this guy really wants to make a documentary, huh?”

  Virgil laid a tray with cups and saucers on the coffee table. “If he can get the funding. A lot of the Donner Party history has been well documented, but he’s hoping to put a new spin on it by telling the story through the eyes of modern-day Nugget.”

  “Like how Virginia Reed came back to build a house here?”

  “Exactly,” he said.

  “You know you never did finish telling me her story.”

  Virgil stirred his coffee. “Where were we?”

  “Virginia’s father had just been banished from the group. He would occasionally leave letters tacked to trees for his family as they traveled with the caravan. But then the notes abruptly stopped.”

  “Ah,” Virgil nodded, getting comfortable. “As winter approached they raced the clock to get over the mountains into California. Indians shot twenty-one of their remaining oxen with poisoned arrows,” he said. “Virginia wrote in her diary that she could hear the Indians up on the bluff, laughing and mocking them.

  “They were nearly out of food when they finally limped into Truckee. But help came. A scout from Sutter’s Fort in Sacramento, who’d gotten word from other travelers that they were still out there, brought them seven mules weighed down with food and two Indian guides. The riders told them they had another month before the high pass of the Sierra would be snowed in.”

  “But that wasn’t the case.” Maddy had read this part of the story.

  “You’re right,” Virgil said. “The weather report was wrong. They camped fifty miles from the summit for five days to rest their animals. When they reached the ridge near Donner Lake they called it a day, and made camp. That night it snowed hard. In the morning the group rushed to the pass. But it was too late. Five feet had fallen and they couldn’t get through. The higher they climbed, the deeper the snow. Even the Indian guides couldn’t find the road.”

  Maddy shook her head. “Sutter’s Fort was only one hundred and fifty miles away and they’d missed it by one day. It seems like fate was out to get them.”

  “Yes, it does,” Virgil said. “And the Reeds were lucky that no one, at least publically, laid the disaster at their feet. Because the snow and sleet kept coming without any sign of letting up. So they all went back to the lake and built a winter camp. The Reeds found a deserted cabin, which they shared with another family. The Donners lived in tents.

  “They butchered their remaining cattle for food. Every day they would search the summit for a relief party, but none came. Soon, they found themselves in twenty feet of snow. The meat was running out, so they began boiling hides, charring bones, and mixing it with leaves, twigs, and bark—anything they could find.”

  “But it wasn’t enough,” Maddy said. Even though she knew this part of what happened, she wanted to know more about Virginia.

  “Nope.” Virgil poured himself another cup of coffee from the server. “One of the Reeds’ servants was the first to die. By mid-December fifteen of the party’s hardiest members and the two Indian guides made a plan to hike out.”

  “Anyone from Virginia’s family?” Maddy asked.

  Virgil shook his head. “They weren’t the strongest of the bunch, so they stayed behind. With the two Indians leading the way, the volunteer group made a dash for the summit. They made it over, but then got lost—probably delirious from hunger. They ran out of provisions on the sixth day and were slowly starving to death.

  “Someone suggested that they draw lots and whoever got the longest slip of paper be sacrificed. Patrick Dolan was the first to pull a death ticket.”

  “But no one could kill him, right?”

  “That’s right.” Virgil smiled at her, obviously proud she’d done her homew
ork. “The first to die was one of the teamsters,” he continued. “After that, Patrick went berserk and some of the others had to restrain him before he fell into a coma and died. Someone built a campfire, while the others cut Patrick’s limbs off. They roasted his arms and legs and ate the meat.”

  Maddy must’ve looked disgusted, because Virgil said, “Hey, it revived them. But the Indians would have no part of eating human flesh.

  “The surviving ten cut up the rest of the dead, wrapped up the meat, and marked it, so they’d know not to feed it to a member of that person’s family. But they went through the food in three days. Then someone suggested murdering the Indians. One of the members of the party warned them and the Indians ran for their lives into the woods.”

  “But they didn’t get far,” Maddy said. “They lay in the snow, starving to death. William Foster, one of the fifteen who’d gone mad, found them and shot each one in the head. The rest ate them.”

  It really was one of the grossest stories Maddy had ever heard.

  “For eighteen more days they walked aimlessly through the mountains,” Virgil went on. “Only seven made it back to the lake alive. There they found more people dead from starvation.”

  “What about Virginia’s family? Were any of them among the dead?” Maddy asked.

  “Nope,” Virgil continued. “Virginia prayed to God to spare her and her family’s life. But no relief came. And by mid-February Virginia lay in her cabin dying. They were all near death.

  “Then a miracle happened.” Virgil paused for dramatic effect. She could see why he’d made an impression on Rhys back in his school days. “A seven-member rescue party came over the summit. When they reached the camp, the rescuers were sickened to find dead bodies strewn across the snow.”

  “Didn’t the Donner Party eat them all?” Maddy asked.

  “The emigrants who remained at the lake hadn’t yet resorted to cannibalism. Fifty-five people, including all the Reed children and their mother, had managed to survive. But the rescuers could only take out twenty-four and there was barely any food left.

  “Virginia, her mother, and her brother James were in that first group out. Her baby brother Thomas and Virginia’s little sister Patty stayed behind. As they made their way across the mountains, they met up with a second relief party.”

  Virgil smiled. “Guess who led the group?”

  Maddy didn’t have a clue.

  “Virginia’s father. James Reed had survived and had come back to rescue them.”

  Maddy got chills. “I thought for sure he was dead.”

  “He got back to the lake in time to get Patty and Thomas,” Virgil said. “But ten more emigrants had died and the survivors had roasted their flesh—even their hearts and livers—for nourishment. James found cabins filled with half-consumed bodies—skulls, hair, and bones.

  “A few more rescue parties came, and by the end of April the last survivor was pulled from the mountains. The death toll was staggering—forty-one people.”

  “But all the Reeds got out alive, made it over the pass?” Maddy asked hopefully.

  “Yes,” Virgil responded. “The Donners weren’t as fortunate. All the adults died and four of the children. They couldn’t even find George Donner’s wife’s body. One of the survivors eventually admitted to eating her remains.”

  “It’s better than a Hollywood horror movie,” Maddy said.

  “Yes, it is,” Virgil admitted. “And that’s why our Stanford friend wants to revisit the whole episode.”

  “We could do a big summer screening in the square.” The Lumber Baron could sell it as a package—that is, if the Lumber Baron still existed when the film was finished.

  Virgil chuckled. “Perhaps. In the meantime”—he handed her a stack of history books—“study up. We want to look sharp when we meet with the professor.”

  On her drive to the Nugget Feed Store, Maddy thought of a dozen ways she could use the documentary to market Nugget as the next big tourist town. All she had to do was save the inn.

  Amanda and Pam waited by a big incubator just beyond the entrance, playing with a dozen baby chicks.

  The store was about the size of a big-box warehouse. Outside there was a small nursery where they sold seasonal plants, pottery, garden provisions, and a charming array of birdhouses and scarecrows. Right now it was lined with Christmas trees. Inside, the store was separated into various departments—saddles, horse gear, ranch equipment, and livestock supplies. There was even a dizzying selection of housewares.

  Grace stood behind the cash register, setting up a counter display of Christmas ornaments. She stopped what she was doing and reached over the counter to give Maddy a hug. “We just got a big shipment in, so you girls go play. There are plenty more sizes in the back.”

  “Where’s Earl?” Amanda asked, leading Pam and Maddy to an area filled with rounders of women’s clothing that was nearly the size of Nordstrom’s shoe department.

  “In the back, helping Clay load grain,” Grace said, then reached for a ringing phone.

  Maddy eyed the myriad racks filled with embroidered Western shirts, denim skirts, and blinged-out hoodies with doubt. The walls were lined with rodeo pictures and the back shelves held stacks of jeans. “I love Grace,” she whispered to the other two women. “But I don’t see me in Wranglers.”

  “Two months ago that would’ve been a problem,” Amanda acknowledged. “Now, you’re in for a treat. What size are you?”

  “A twenty-eight or a twenty-nine.”

  Pam pushed her through a set of swinging saloon doors into a dressing room with a rawhide bench and a full-length mirror. “Strip,” she ordered, and Maddy obediently complied.

  They shoved a pile of jeans at her. “Try these on,” Pam said.

  “Aren’t you guys trying some, too?” Maddy asked.

  Amanda popped her head over the pony wall in the next dressing room and held up a fitted sweaterdress that looked straight out of the Sundance Catalog.

  “Cute!” Maddy said.

  “With boots, right?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Maybe Maddy would get some boots, too.

  She shimmied into a pair of jeans with white side stitching and marveled at how well they fit. “I like these,” she said, checking out her butt in the mirror. “Either the yoga’s working, or these are miracle pants.”

  “Come out,” Pam urged.

  “They’re a little long, though.” Maddy exited the dressing room on her tiptoes and found Amanda assessing the dress in the three-way mirror. It looked even better on her than it did on the hanger.

  “The pants are longer for riding,” Amanda said. “Otherwise the legs hike up too short in the stirrups.” That wouldn’t be a problem for Maddy.

  “Turn.” Pam shrugged on a leather duster she’d pulled from the sale rack while she made Maddy model the pants. “You definitely have to get those.”

  “How much are they?” Maddy tried to see the price tag on the back.

  “Seventy-nine,” Amanda read.

  “You’re kidding me? I paid three hundred for my Sevens. And these fit about a million times better.”

  “We tried to tell you,” Amanda said. “Should I get this dress?”

  “Yes,” Maddy and Pam said in unison.

  “Ladies.”

  All three of them turned to see Rhys leaning against one of the clothing tables.

  “Nice jeans,” he said, surreptitiously trying to get a look at her ass.

  She felt her cheeks heat. “What are you doing here?”

  “Giving Clay a hand—big grain order. You getting those?” He motioned to the pants.

  “Maybe. You think I should?”

  “Definitely.” He pushed away from the table, and strolled away.

  “That was interesting.” Pam had been watching the exchange like it was the French Open.

  “Very,” Amanda chimed in. “You two an item?”

  “Honestly,” Maddy said, “I don’t know what we are.” There’d been those kisses.
But the last time she’d been with him, he’d run a little cold. But then again, who was she to talk? She wasn’t even officially divorced yet. And she probably should’ve kept her mouth shut about Dave’s Paris invitation. That seemed to have driven Rhys’s sudden standoffish behavior.

  As Amanda watched Rhys and Clay leave the store, she said, “If I was you, I’d get to tapping that. Grace was right, that boy turned out good.” Then she disappeared inside the dressing room to try on a few tops and a down vest.

  In Maddy’s mind Rhys was better than good. He was smart, caring, and dependable. Not to mention so ripped that he made her drool. He just came with more baggage than a transatlantic flight.

  By the time they got to the cash register, Maddy had three pairs of jeans and a pair of Old Gringo cowboy boots. She’d gotten a set of sterling silver and turquoise bangles, earrings for Sophie, and a suede fringe jacket for Mariah.

  “Ooh, it looks like you girls done good,” Grace cooed. “Maddy, you’re entitled to a little retail therapy after what those Addisons are doing.”

  “Did you look at the petition?” she asked Grace, interested to know how many signatures they had so far.

  “I did not—told Sandy I wanted no part of that petition, or those ridiculous banners. Now you listen to me, dear. I grew up in this town, and while I’ll admit people here are slow to accept anything new at first, they always come around. You’ll see.”

  “You think?” Maddy must’ve looked as glum as she felt, because Grace came around the counter and gave her a squeeze. The woman was a hugger.

  “Let me tell you something,” Grace said, handing Maddy her shopping bags. “For thirty years all we sold here were sturdy Western jeans, work shirts, and whites for the 4-H kids. Occasionally, during the holidays, we’d get in a few fancier-style boots, some hand-tooled belts. Then, a few months ago, my daughter, Lucinda, asked if she could take over the apparel department, do the buying. Earl was so happy that she was taking an interest in the business he turned it over to her, then nearly crapped his pants when he saw this.” She motioned to the clothing displays. “For weeks all I heard from the customers was how we were ruining the place—turning it into Saks Fifth Avenue instead of focusing on animal husbandry.