He searched the crowd, picking out familiar faces. There were a few, the blacksmith, the owner of the feed store, but mostly the men looked like miners and roustabouts. He’d seen a few of them around, but didn’t know their names.
One man did stand out from the others. He stood close to the saloon doors. Fortunately for Buck, the light from the opened doors of the saloon put the man’s face in clear view. Dressed in a fine black coat, black trousers, crisp white shirt and black satin cravat, Buck guessed the man wasn’t a laborer. He looked like a gambler.
Buck gauged the man to be in his late forties—probably well off. He looked sober enough, maintaining an air of superiority, his hands thrust deep in his trouser pockets. He appeared amused, a sadistic smirk on his lips as he encouraged those around him to a higher degree of excitement. He and the others were rooting for the man on top, beating the crap out of the poor bastard on the bottom of the pile.
The obvious victor applied a few more blows to the inert body before rising to his feet with the aid of his cohorts. He swayed, blood oozed out of his mouth, his eyes nearly swollen shut. The men slapped him on the back and led him inside, no doubt for a celebratory round of drinks.
The dapper dandy stood aside, allowing everyone to go on inside. He stepped off the boardwalk, and with the tip of one polished black boot rolled the pummeled looser onto his side.
Having to move forward out of the shadows a bit too far for comfort, Buck strained to hear what the man had to say to the unconscious man.
“You’re on the losing side, my friend. Maybe you’ll change your mind now.” The dandy turned and went inside to join the celebration.
Shivering, Buck flapped his arms across his chest and cast a look up and down the dark, empty street before going out to see if the man was dead. He’d just stepped out of the shadows when a dark figure, a woman wearing a dark cape with a hood, emerged from the alley beside the saloon. Bending over the man, the woman put her hands beneath his shoulders in a futile attempt to drag the body out of the street.
Startled, the woman squeaked when Buck put a hand on her shoulder to move her aside. He started to haul the body up onto his shoulders. A sharp poke to his neck stopped him. He lowered the man to the ground, thinking there may be a knife hidden in the man’s pocket. What he saw took him by surprise. A shiny deputy’s star pinned on the young man’s torn coat had jabbed him. He removed the star, and handed it to the woman. When he looked down into her upturned face, he encountered not a woman, but a girl. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen.
“You know this fella, Miss?”
She nodded. “He’s my brother.”
After hoisting the dead weight up to his shoulder, Buck nodded. “You got any idea what the argument was about?”
The question hung between them for a few brief seconds before she nodded her head. In a voice awash with tears, she asked, “Is he alive?”
Adjusting the weight, Buck made his burden more evenly distributed. “I’d say he’s alive. Some broken ribs, maybe a broken nose. Where do we go with him?”
She twirled around, took her bearings and slapped her arms down to her sides. Walking backward for a few steps, she motioned him to follow her. “We’ve got a room down the street above the apothecary. If you could help me get him up the stairs, I’d appreciate it.”
He had to push to keep up, but Buck followed her. “He might need a doctor. I can get him upstairs, then if you tell me where I might find the doc, I’ll go fetch him.”
She didn’t look back at him, but picked up her skirts and turned off at the corner of the apothecary’s. “The doctor has already seen him. You must’ve seen how it went. The doctor’s the man who rolled Pete over on his side with the toe of his boot. I wouldn’t let that man treat a pimple on my brother’s backside, let alone his nose or his ribs. He’s not a doctor. I don’t know what he is, but I know Jace Oldmen is not a doctor.”
Buck followed her down a dark alley, then up a rickety, narrow stairway. He almost lost his balance, but remained upright, grabbing hold of the wooden rail with his free hand. He followed the girl into a dark room at the top of the stairs and stood still while she lit a lamp, then carried the boy over to a sagging, blanket-covered sofa on the other side of the room. “Your brother’s a deputy?”
She stood behind him, pouring water from a plain white pitcher into a cracked and chipped basin. She brought it over to the sofa, pushed her hood back to reveal a cascade of dusky curls, then sat down, and began to bathe the boy’s face. “Was…Pete was deputy. After tonight, he isn’t anymore. They’ll kill him.”
Looking around him, Buck didn’t think much of their accommodations. The boy couldn’t be more than seventeen or eighteen, and it would appear these two were on their own. “You got folks?”
She shook her head and sniffed back a tear. “Our mama’s been dead for a while. Papa lost everything to Kurt Laski early last summer, the house, our farm, everything. Papa moved Pete and me into town to live with his sister. Pete took the job as deputy and I helped Aunt Ida with her housekeeping job. Then they found Papa dead on the road going out to our old place. He died of a heart attack, they told us. Then a few weeks ago, Aunt Ida got herself run down by an ore wagon—no one saw the wagon or the driver. Pete’s been nosing around trying to find out.”
“You said they’d kill your brother. Who’s they?” Buck carried the lamp over to the couch and set it on the side table.
With the back of her hand, she swiped at her tears, then dipped the towel in the pan of water and wrung it out. “I don’t know, exactly—the doctor for one. There are others. I don’t know their names. I just started working at the Blue Bucket tonight. But both Pete and I have heard stories of what happens to you when you go against Beau Laski and his men. He wants to own the town.”
Staring down at her as she worked, Buck started to get the picture. “Laski’s in jail, you know. He won’t own anything.”
“Ha.” Rising to her feet, the girl faced him, defeat clouding her big sad eyes. “You must be new in town. Beau owns this town, and he’s not going on trial for anything. I know he killed my father. And I know Laski had a hand in my aunt’s accident. He might not have been driving the wagon but it was one of his men. I don’t have any proof. But they had to shut her up, she intended to testify. Beau Laski isn’t going on trial for any of his crimes. And I’d wager he’s plotting right now on how soon he can get rid of the sheriff.”
Buck reached down deep into his inside coat pocket and withdrew a wad of bills. He tore off a handful and slapped them into the girl’s hand. “Look, you don’t need to work at the Blue Bucket.”
He thought to say more, but she interrupted him, tossing the bills in his face. “You can keep your money, Mister. I’m not going to spread my legs for you or anyone else. I pretty much knew that by sundown this evening. I don’t care if I starve. I’d rather die than let some man paw me. Besides, when Pete saw me in that place he ordered me to get home and stay home.”
Her declaration made Buck smile. Bending down, he picked up the scattered cash, then reached out for her hand, opened her fist and put the money in her palm and closed her fingers over it. “I don’t want a thing from you, little girl…rest easy.” He let go of her hand and dropped his arms down to his side.
With his head to one side, Buck tried to put two and two together. “So Pete didn’t know you’d taken a job at the Blue Bucket? I’d wager that’s how the argument got started. You keep the money and stay out of sight for a few days. Take care of Pete. Try to keep him down.”
“I promise you, Beau Laski does not own this town and he will have a trial and he will go to prison for a very long time.” Buck halted at the front door. “You ever meet the woman your aunt worked for?”
Shaking her head, the girl fondled the cash in her hand with trembling fingers. She raised her eyes and looked at him with wonder and gratitude. “No. I never met Miss Yurvasi. Aunt Ida said she was a nice lady, but blind where the Laski brothers were concerne
d.”
“Do what I tell you, now. Stay out of sight. Keep to your room here and take care of Pete. I’ll let the sheriff know what’s happened to him. Don’t you worry. What’s your name, darlin’?”
“Adella, Adella Ridenhour.” Buck thought she wanted to say more, but her brother moaned and started to roll his head from side to side. She kneeled down beside the sofa to sooth his hurts.
Buck slipped out and stood on the landing outside the door. It’d been an interesting night. With his mind all cluttered up with speculation, a few unsubstantiated facts, and a lot of questions, he didn’t know what to think and started down the stairs, then at the bottom it hit him. Petra, she wasn’t safe here, not safe at all, and no matter how well he protected her, he couldn’t keep her safe here. He’d delivered her right into a nest of vipers.
She’d never wanted to come to Baker City. She’d known how it would be…she’d known and yet she’d consented to coming back here, putting her life in jeopardy. He hadn’t understood. Breaking out in a cold sweat, he realized how far he’d miscalculated the risk. Why, he asked himself, why hadn’t he taken Petra and Gabriel away, far away somewhere, where they’d never be found?
Desperate to see Petra, to be certain she was alive, breathing, he started for Doreen’s, taking long strides. Half way there, he stopped. He didn’t dare go near her. No one could know she was here. Now a matter of life and death—he could see that. Now that it was too late to retreat and disappear.
Chapter Eighteen
Just like a coyote pup, Gabriel awoke shortly after dawn with a healthy howl for attention. Before Petra could take him in her arms, Doreen opened her bedroom door. “Buck just walked in. He says the sheriff and the prosecuting attorney will be along shortly. I’ve got some coffee, would you like a cup?”
A big hand came around Doreen’s waist and moved her aside, and Buck rushed into the room, eyes for no one but Petra. “If you’ve got tea, it would be better. Coffee doesn’t agree with our boy.”
Petra closed her eyes and opened her arms as he came to the bed. She pressed her cheek against his solid chest. His arms warm and strong, enfolded her, anchored her, holding her fast against the tide threatening to drag her out to sea.
He pressed his lips against her temple. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen. I missed you. I hate this whole idea, but now we’re here, we have to see this through.”
Taking his face in her hands, Petra needed to see into his eyes. “We could leave now—this minute. No one knows I’m here.”
He took her hand and kissed her palm, then lifted his gaze to her beseeching eyes. “I thought about it. My heart tells me to take you away, run, run fast, but my head tells me it wouldn’t work. We can’t let Beau get away with this. Last night I came up with a few ideas. We’ll see what the sheriff thinks.”
Laying her head against his shoulder, Petra gripped his back, her fingers clenching and unclenching the fabric of his shirt. She breathed him in, hoping to breathe in some of his strength—his hope. “Don’t leave me. I don’t want to spend another night alone.”
All night Kurt had weaved in and out of her dreams, a dark and sinister figure behind her, following her, threatening her—threatening Gabriel. The dream so real, this morning when she woke, at first she thought Kurt still lived. The feeling wouldn’t leave her alone. Fully awake, she could feel his presence, just as she’d felt death looking over her shoulder up there in the canyon. She could feel Kurt hovering, waiting to swoop down, peck her eyes out and snatch Gabriel from her arms.
Gabriel started to get mad. Grinning at her, Buck left her side to pick him up. Propping the red-faced little cherub up against his shoulder, his big hand working in a circular motion on the baby’s back, he soothed away the slight.
“Whoa, son. All in good time.” The baby tried to smile but then remembered he was hungry and wet and started up again with a loud protest, refusing to be distracted.
With her pretty face scrubbed clean of powder and rouge, looking young and fresh, Doreen entered the room and set down a cup of tea for Petra and a mug of coffee on the little table beside the bed for Buck. “I’m not big on breakfast. I can make coffee, but I don’t drink it.”
Buck handed Gabriel over to Petra and put the coffee cup to his lips. Petra, looking on, waited for him to take a big swallow of Doreen’s coffee. He made a sour face, then swallowed hard.
“You can’t make coffee, Doreen. I’ll see what I can rustle up for breakfast.”
The two left the room, bickering with one another like the old friends they were, and Petra couldn’t help but feel Matt’s defection. It hadn’t escaped her notice he hadn’t promised her he wouldn’t leave her side in the days and nights to come. Upon reflection, he’d also denied her the option to go where they could start a new life together.
She couldn’t return to the hot springs—she’d come to terms with the fact yesterday. With death on her heels again, the Laski’s would finish the job this time, she knew it.
She had to think of Gabriel—he wasn’t safe. She would need to find him a home. Doreen? No, not Doreen. Maybe the sheriff could help, or this attorney she had yet to meet. Her first choice was Matt, but she couldn’t leave Gabriel to be raised by a man who ran a brothel. Although she had no doubts about the depth of Matt’s love for her son—he loved her son as his own. He was so very tender and gentle with her baby. The love in his eyes when he held Gabriel was pure, open for all to see, no shame there, nothing held back. It was his love for her that Petra doubted, and she couldn’t shake off her doubts.
The question uppermost on her mind—would any of them be spared—would Gabriel live on? Not if Beau Laski had his way, she didn’t think. Gabriel should have his chance to live and grow to become a man. But with Beau Laski still alive and breathing, she doubted he’d ever be safe.
With so many fears running through her head, Petra changed Gabriel’s diaper, nursed him, then washed her face and dressed in Matt’s shirt and the blanket-skirt she’d fashioned for herself.
From her wardrobe, Doreen had unearthed a cherry-red and white checked gingham dress and laid it out over the vanity bench for her. Petra hadn’t considered for a moment wearing it. She would never be that gay again. She slipped her feet into her fur-lined boots, laced them up, and with Gabriel in her arms, walked out of her room without so much as a glance to the image in the looking glass above the vanity.
Entering Doreen’s cozy kitchen, Petra found Matt standing in front of Doreen’s little cookstove, flipping pancakes on a griddle. Doreen was nowhere in sight.
Without giving her a glance, Matt said, “I hope you’re hungry. Doreen went out to see what all the commotion’s about.”
When he turned around to give her a smile, his gaze traveled over her, taking in her appearance and the light went out of his eyes. “Doreen said she’d found something for you to wear. I thought you’d like to wear something pretty for a change.”
Dismissively, she shook her head at him, purposefully giving her attention to the sounds of shouting voices and whinnying horses out on the street, so different from the quiet of the hot spring.
“I’m comfortable. I don’t need a pretty dress.” The truth, she envied Doreen, envied her blonde hair, her pretty clothes and her unfettered, independent life.
Doreen sailed back inside through the front door, a sunny smile on her face, her cheeks rosy with cold, and the skirts of her sky-blue dress catching the breeze.
At the same time, two men entered through the back door, approaching from the short hall to the kitchen. One of the men Petra recognized as sheriff Bollo. She knew him by sight. The other man she’d never seen before. He was short, shorter than Doreen—who couldn’t be more than five feet tall—gray haired and wearing wire-rimmed glasses that sat on his stubby little nose. With Gabriel in her arms, Petra stepped back out of the way behind the little kitchen table, hoping to make herself invisible.
Doreen skipped across the parlor floor like a little girl, light in her eyes and a bounc
e in her step. “You should see it out there, Buck.” Giggling, she slapped her hands down on the front of her skirt. “Turkeys and sheep everywhere. Rams butting heads. Sheep jumping straight up out of the middle of the flock, then scrambling over each other’s backs. Turkey feathers fluttering in the air like snowflakes. Sheepherders cussing turkey herders. Turkey herders cussing sheepherders, pedestrians cussing…well, just plain cussing.”
Petra noticed the sheriff didn’t act at all concerned about the state of affairs out on the street. Petra thought he looked rather pleased, barely holding back a grin.
He shrugged. “Oh, yeah, I might’ve forgot to tell Philpot about the herd of sheep old Santiago wanted to bringing through this morning.” He chuckled to himself. “Philpot’s been askin’ when he could move all his turkeys across the river to his brother’s farm out on Old Wagon Road. I told him this mornin’ to go ahead. Gee, I sure hope those boys can get all them animals sorted out before the coach comes in from Boise.”
Doreen stood there with her pretty bow of a mouth open, her eyes shining. “You devil.” Throwing her head back, she succumbed to a fit of laughter.
Matt grumbled as he filled a plate with flapjacks and set it on the table. “I said a diversion, Bollo, not pandemonium.”
Still giggling, Doreen came to the table and sat down. “You two cooked this up? You should be ashamed of yourselves. About a half dozen of those birds flew into Tabor’s Emporium. That old prune, Millie Tabor, had just opened her doors. Some of them flew up onto the ledge over the hotel door, and they pooped on Doc Oldmen’s spiffy black suit coat. You should’ve seen the look on his face. He looked ready to do murder, and kind’a hung over, by the way.”
Doreen continued to titter to herself, then laughed heartily. “God, I’m so glad I didn’t sleep through this. I would’ve, you know,” she said, turning in Petra’s direction. “Normally, I don’t do mornings.”
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