“What’s the plan for when we get to town?” Tim asked over Aunt Melda’s head, his eyes never leaving the team.
Aunt Melda tsked. “I’m going to find my husband and make sure he gets himself home immediately,” she said, shifting in the seat, her elbow poking JoJo in the ribs. Again. “And I’ll ride home with him, if you don’t mind. As much as I care for you, dear, this situation isn’t at all comfortable.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to remind Aunt Melda that she was the one who demanded to be included.
“I think I’ll visit the store, maybe ask Mr. Jones a few questions. I want to see what’s there that Hess and his men would want.”
Tim threw a glance at her, apprehension and a mite of admiration glowed there. She fought the urge to smile at him.
The ride into town seemed to take forever, and by the time Tim pulled to a stop at the livery, JoJo felt like a hotcake in a gingham dress.
Peeling herself from her aunt’s side, JoJo stepped from the surrey before Tim could come around and help her down. She didn’t want him to touch her…just the thought of Tim’s hand on her skin made her want to run as far as fast as she could. But it also made her want to revel in his attentions—even if just for a moment.
Get your head outta the clouds, JoJo. You’ve got work to do!
Throwing back her shoulders, JoJo tied her bonnet securely under her chin and repositioned the thing to shade her face from the sun, just overhead.
Aunt Melda waited for Tim to help her down, and he did, with hardly a grimace. The man was taking the pain and handling it better than JoJo thought he would. She admired that about him, too. There was a lot to admire about the man she’d practically trampled that first day, three days ago. Back when she was so focused on putting the noose around Hess’s neck, she hadn’t even thought through her plan to capture him.
But Tim had changed things for her, and as much as she couldn’t stand how distracting he was, she liked that he was worth the distraction.
He caught her staring and smiled. She blushed and turned away, adjusting her bonnet to hide her face.
JoJo felt Tim come up behind her, his presence hotter and more intense than the sun beating down on them.
“So, to the store?” he asked, his voice rumbling through her.
She swallowed a gasp at the sensation, and used her suddenly nervous hands to straighten her skirts. Again. “Yes, I think that’s the best place to look for clues.” Just as she was about to turn and head for the clapboard building that called itself a store, a commotion broke out behind them.
The sounds of grumblings and raised voices carried across the street from the meeting hall. JoJo cast a glance to her aunt who looked as curious and alarmed as JoJo felt. Tim stepped up beside her, looking down at her. His blue eyes were filled with concern, and something warm…something that made JoJo catch her breath.
“What do you suppose that’s about?” Aunt Melda asked. “I wonder if your uncle is in there.” Before JoJo or Tim could say anything, Aunt Melda dipped her head and forged ahead, her shoulders back and her legs carrying her as fast as she seemed to be able to go.
“Dang-it!” JoJo exclaimed, before following after her aunt. She could feel Tim following behind her, his long strides measured to stay just there, where he could watch her back. She didn’t know if she should be hurt that he thought she needed protecting, or if she should feel safe…cherished because he cared enough to want to protect her. Her heart settled the argument for her; filling with a warmth that spread into her limbs. It wasn’t a wholly new feeling. She’d felt something similar with her brother, Joe. He was older than her by five years, and no matter what she’d said or how adamantly she’d fought against him, he was always there for her, helping her fight her battles, teaching her to shoot, to ride, and to have the strength to endure…and she did endure. Though his murder had robbed her of what she held most precious, she endured. And now, she had someone who made her feel just as safe, just as strong, and he didn’t even know it.
She fought the urge to turn and meet Tim’s gaze, which she could feel boring into her back, and followed Aunt Melda into the meeting hall. The open room, painted a pale green, looked more like a one-story barn than a meeting place for humans; it was filled to overflowing with angry faces, murmuring people, and a tall, swarthy man, wearing a cattleman’s hat and a bronze badge.
The sheriff.
“Who’s gonna get my things back, Temogen? You ain’t done nothin’ to help and it seems like more and more things are gone missin!” A dark-haired man with a round belly and face glowered at the man standing, hands on hips, strong features impenetrable.
Sheriff Temogen raised his hand to silence the grousing that followed the pot-bellied man’s statement.
“I encourage you all to take a breath and let me do my job,” he said, his voice deep and his tone authoritative. “Breckett,” he called to a man at the back of the room, “when did you lose your pick axes?”
Breckett, a tall, reedy man with a balding head, replied, “Last week, Thursday.”
Temogen turned to a man on his left. “Clyde, when did your mule go missing?”
Clyde sat up but didn’t meet the sheriff’s penetrating gaze. “Two days—and I can’t get nothin’ done at my claim without her.”
Temogen tipped his head, giving the man a sympathetic nod. He looked down front, at a group of people who looked particularly agitated. “Ralph, tell me what happened.”
JoJo turned to Tim whose eyes were flicking from face to face, his expression wary. Aunt Melda had a similar expression, but hers was tinged with disappointment. Uncle Thomas wasn’t there, and now she was probably wondering where her husband had got off to. JoJo wanted to feel bad for her aunt, but all she could conjure was anger—anger at her uncle for betraying his wife’s trust in him, and anger at Hess for continuing to hurt those she cared about.
“I locked up the store as usual last night—”
At the mention of the store, JoJo’s body tensed, steel and apprehension pouring down her spine.
“This morning, when I came in, all my maps were gone—the whole cabinet just up and disappeared. Now, I ain’t a fool to think these robberies aren’t connected, but I sure as heck can’t think of why anyone would want old pick axes, an ugly, lazy mule, and my old maps.”
“What maps?” JoJo started when Tim called out from beside her, turning all eyes in the building toward them at the back of the now too warm meeting hall.
The man who’d spoken widened his eyes then narrowed them, a suspicious glint shining in his gaze. “Old maps…of the claims up in the hills. They aren’t worth anything, and they’re more than six years old. Can’t figure why anyone would steal them.”
She could… As if her world had only just become clear, the pieces of the Hess-Uncle Thomas puzzle began to form the picture. Uncle Thomas’s mysterious claim, Hess sneaking into town, the pick axes, the mule, the old claim maps… Hess and Uncle Thomas were illegally mining. But why? Her uncle seemed to have all the money he needed from the claim where he’d discovered the gold vein. Why would he need to steal gold from another man’s claim?
A sinking, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, JoJo turned and walked from the building, Tim and Aunt Melda following close behind.
“I think I have an idea about what’s going on,” Tim said, placing a comforting, strong hand on JoJo’s shoulder. She wanted to lean into him, press herself into his chest, let him wrap his strong arms around her. In that moment, the weight of all she’d experienced, all the emotions she’d bottled up, all the thoughts and worries that had filled her to bursting finally broke free. And she nearly crumbled beneath it.
Aunt Melda came to stand on JoJo’s other side, a look of concern on her face. “Joanna, what’s wrong? You look ill.”
Raising a shaking hand, JoJo paused to gather her wits, then replied. “I know what’s going on, too,” she placed her other shaking hand over Tim’s on her shoulder. The quiet power in his hand alon
e, giving her the strength she needed to admit something that ripped the pride from her body. “I just don’t know how we’re supposed to stop it.”
Chapter Eighteen
The drive back to Wheeler Hills in the surrey was much more uncomfortable this time around. No one spoke, no one paid much attention to the scenery as the surrey rolled by. It was as though he, Joanna, and Aunt Melda were all trapped in a jar, waiting for someone to crack the lid and pour them into a boiling cast iron pot.
Like frogs meant for ‘river stew’.
Tim halted the surrey in front of the wide porch then hurried to get down and around to the other side to help Joanna and Aunt Melda—both of whom looked deep in thought. Troubled thought. He reached out and Joanna took his hand, and a jolt of awareness shot through his arm and into his chest. Her wide eyes and stricken expression told him she felt it, too. As soon as her feet were on the ground, she let go, and he immediately felt the loss.
What was wrong with him that a simple touch from her could mean so much?
He helped Aunt Melda down and his aunt turned to them with a tightness in her face, her gaze sharp, her skin pale, her body tense.
“I’ll leave you to your planning, but I expect to see you at breakfast tomorrow. I find I need to…think on things,” she said, her voice clipped. She turned to make her way into the house, but Joanna touched her arm, stopping her.
“Aunt Melda…what will you do?” Tim knew Joanna was asking about what Aunt Melda would do now that she knew her husband was involved in something criminal. Something dangerous. Joanna’s copper brows were dipped in concern, and her features were softened in compassion. As much as she wanted to appear tough, untouchable, Joanna was vulnerable. It was that vulnerability that made Tim want to encircle her in his arms, pull her into him, and shield her from all harm. Even the harm she brought on herself.
Lord, give me strength.
Aunt Melda stopped but didn’t turn around. “You have your plans, and I have mine,” she replied, her tone steely, as if she were planning to raze heaven to the ground. With that, she walked into the house, leaving Joanna and Tim standing beside the surrey, the air between them thick with moist air, heat, and unspoken thoughts.
Murmuring under her breath, Joanna tore the bonnet from her head and threw it into the dust. “I hate that Uncle Thomas did this to her. She doesn’t deserve to be betrayed like this,” she seethed.
“So, what are we going to do about it? We know what he’s planning, we know Hess is behind the robberies in town. But what can we do short of walking into the claim and telling them we know all about their plan?”
Joanna moved into the shade beside the house and watched as Jimmy, the porter and sometimes stable boy, took the reins and led the horses toward the barn. Once the boy was out of earshot, she said, “We? Why do you want to get mixed up in all of this?” Tim couldn’t understand her look of confusion. Didn’t she know? How could she not know?
Frustration wove with hurt within him. He snatched the hat from his head and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. He needed a moment to think; he needed to figure out how to tell her that she, the fiery, brave, strong, beautiful woman, had burrowed under his skin. How did a man tell a woman she’d become like life to him?
Swallowing the ball of unspoken emotion in his throat, he put his hat back on and met her gaze. “I want to help you, Joanna,” he replied simply. “Let me help you.”
He watched a rainbow of expressions fly across her face. She was holding her breath, and he could see the wheels spinning in her mind. Her hands clenched and unclenched in her skirts, and her small, white teeth bit down on her bottom lip.
A shot of heat exploded in his belly, and he turned away from her to hide the flush he felt rising up his neck. He’d never been jealous of teeth before; he wanted to take Joanna’s lips with his, nibbling along her lush lips, tasting every flavor of desire and want. He never wanted anything more…had never felt so attracted to anyone before. He was twenty-six years old, he’d met his share of beautiful women, women his ma wouldn’t mind calling her daughter-in-law.
But none of those women fired his blood, stole his breath, or jumbled his thoughts like Joanna did. Joanna was like the mythical, tiny, fey Mrs. Watkins told him about during their studies of Ireland. Like the fey, Joanna was troublesome, beautiful, clever, quick to anger, but loyal to the point of death.
She cleared her throat and Tim turned back to look at her. Her eyes were filled with anxiety, her body tense, but there was a softening around her mouth he took to mean she wasn’t going to fight him.
“Fine. You can help,” she said, “but we need to take a look at Uncle’s Thomas’s maps. We won’t be able to find that claim in the dark without it.”
Relief flooded him, followed closely by fear. What had he just gotten himself into? What had he just allowed Joanna to get him into? Why couldn’t he make her see how dangerous her plans were?
I have, she just won’t listen. She was bound and determined to get justice for her dead brother. Too bad she could wind up dead herself. That thought made him shudder despite the heat of late afternoon pouring into him.
Tim followed Joanna into the house, keeping his eyes open, his gaze alert. He knew Uncle Thomas wasn’t home, but that didn’t mean one of the other men in the house wasn’t keeping an eye on him and Joanna. Uncle Thomas had brought him to Montana to keep Joanna out of trouble, which he now knew meant keep her out of his way. He wanted to plunder someone else’s claim without anyone knowing. He wanted to steal gold right out from another man’s nose—he was stealing someone else’s hopes and dreams.
Anger and disgust roiled in his stomach. How could he have missed that side of his uncle? After what his ma had said about her own brother, he should have been a little more apprehensive about coming to Montana. But he didn’t listen. He’d wanted his adventure, he’d wanted to leave Dry Bayou behind and start his own life, away from the family farm and the expectations that came with it.
But now, he was as far away from home as he’d ever been, and the adventure he was on would surely kill him.
Joanna walked across the foyer and through the open door into Uncle Thomas’s office. The desk was covered with maps. Apparently, he had no fear of being found out. He was either stupid or arrogant.
Arrogant, he thought, remembering his uncle’s comments in the carriage the day he arrived in town.
“No one, and I mean no one, can tell me how much land I can own. It’s mine, I paid for it fair and square, and I mean to own more. Don’t you dare let any man tell you what you can do on your own land…”
Back then, he didn’t have a clue what his uncle was going on about, but now he knew.
Leaning over the desk, Tim peered down at what looked like a topographical map of the mine east of town and the claims northwest of town.
One of the claims was marked with a red X and had the words: WHEELER STAKE written over it in large, black letters.
“This is Uncle Thomas’s claim here,” Joanna said, pointing to the area on the map. It was atop a ridge, just up the hills, about an hour from Wheeler Hills.
Beside the claim his uncle had purchased was another X. Another claim.
“Whose is this?” Tim asked, looking and failing to find a name.
Joanna shrugged. “Maybe one of the other maps will tell us.” She moved the top map to reveal a stack of maps beneath it. Tim watched as she flipped the maps up, searching for another map with the same claims. She flipped to the last map— “Here it is,” she said, pulling it out and laying it atop the stack.
WHEELER STAKE was written there again, and beside it was the name OLYPHANT STAKE.
“Who is Olyphant?” Joanna asked, her lips pursed.
“I don’t know. Do you think Aunt Melda will know?” Tim asked, hoping the older woman had some idea of who her husband did business with.
“She might, but that’s not the problem,” Joanna replied, her brows dipping in a deep V.
Concerned, Ti
m stepped closer and looked down at the map beneath Joanna’s fingers. “What is it?”
“Look,” she said, pointing to an X right between the two claims. “The entrance to the two claims are marked with a circle inside a circle.” She indicated to two marks then slid her finger from the mark at the Wheeler stake to the X. “This seems to indicate where the two stakes meet.”
Realization dawned, and with it, a sick feeling. “So, Uncle Thomas is mining right into someone else’s stake? That doesn’t make sense… Why aren’t the stakes further apart? There’s a whole mountain to mine, why are these two so close together?”
Joanna sighed. “I don’t know, but we have to go there. We have to see how far this all goes.” She pulled the map from the stack and began rolling it. Her actions quick, her body tense, she looked prepared for battle. A sliver of fear crawled over him. She was serious. She meant to go right into the lion’s den, armed with a gun, and a thirst for vengeance that had all but blinded her to the faults and flaws in her decisions.
Alarm slammed into him. “Joanna, you aren’t thinking of going there to interfere, are you? These men will kill you without thinking twice. You know what kind of man Hess is,” he ground out, suddenly angry. “Why do you keep putting yourself in danger? Why can’t we tell the sheriff? Why can’t we let him take care of this?” He felt as if every drop of energy within him poured into the floor. He sagged against the desk, his head hanging between his shoulders. The wound in his shoulder throbbed, reminding him that not only was Joanna armed, she was probably a lousy shot.
Tim heard her suck in a breath, and he raised his head, his gaze catching on her face as a red flush rose into her hairline. Her gold eyes glimmered and her nostrils flared. “Don’t you dare get in my way, Timothy Hanlon! This is my last chance to get that bastard, and I won’t let you or anyone stop me from catching the rat who killed Joseph.” He heard the pain, the desperation, the determination in her voice, and it pulled the air from his lungs.
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