Colorado Dawn

by Kaki Warner

  Ash looked at the telescope, saw the remnants of black boot wax on the eyecup and knew the rest of it was now smeared in a circle around his eye. A trick recruits dearly loved to play on their sergeants.

  “Sorry,” Brodie said, not sounding sorry at all. “You know Indians. They love their pranks.”

  Ash laughed good-­naturedly and wiped off the wax with his handkerchief. This wasn’t the first time he’d been tricked. The military was famous for its pranks. At least this one didn’t involve broken bones or scorched pants.

  “Hell of a shot, by the way,” the sheriff said to Ash as he reloaded the Sharps. “Think you can do better, Thomas?”

  The Cheyenne studied Ash, laughter still showing in his dark eyes. “Better than a white man? Yes.”

  Ash smirked back. “But better than a Scot? No.”

  Ash was right. Neither Redstone nor Brodie could match him in marksmanship, even when they tried sitting behind the fence and resting the rifle on the bottom rail. With three of the four targets still standing, Ash picked up the Snider-­Enfield. Now it was his turn.

  He loaded it with one of his special cartridges, knowing that the added gunpowder would greatly increase the muzzle blast as well as the kick. After snapping the side breech closed, he held it out to the Cheyenne.

  “Perhaps this will be easier for you to shoot,” he chided. “With only a twenty-­inch barrel, it’s as light as a feather in your hands and has a kick as soft as a wee brownie’s kiss.”

  “What is this brownie?” Thomas asked Brodie, taking the rifle.

  Brodie shrugged.

  “Be sure to hold it soft,” Ash advised. “This wee gun hasn’t the power of the Sharps so you won’t even need to brace it. Just lean close into it and aim through the sliding rear sight to the fixed sight on the barrel. Come.” He motioned the sheriff closer. “You can watch over his shoulder.”

  Feet braced, his cheek against the stock, Thomas peered through the sight. Brodie leaned closer and squinted at the target in the distance. When Ash saw Thomas take a deep breath, he stepped back and put his fingers to his ears.

  Thomas squeezed. The muzzle blast jerked the shortened barrel up and back, smacking the tall metal sight against the Cheyenne’s forehead. He staggered back, almost stumbling into Brodie who had his hands clapped over his ears. Words in a language Ash dinna know exploded from the Indian’s mouth.

  “Looks like you missed,” Ash called out. “Too bad.” Clasping his hands behind his back, he turned to the sheriff, who was shaking his head like a dog with a bee in its ear. “We Scots,” he said loudly enough to be heard over the ringing he guessed was still echoing through the sheriff’s head, “like our pranks, too.”

  And that’s when they jumped him.

  Thirteen

  “An entertaining afternoon,” Ash said later as he helped Maddie into the buggy. Daylight was fading fast and he knew he would have to pick up the pace if they were to get back to Heartbreak Creek before dark. Tricks was probably halfway there already, having taken off as soon as Ash had removed the chain and returned it to the sheriff.

  “Entertaining? You were fighting! And laughing! Rolling around on the ground like barnyard animals.”

  While Ash went around to the other side of the buggy, she yanked the coats and blankets from behind the bench and threw them onto the seat beside her. “My God, Ashby, you’re a viscount!”

  Shoving blankets and coats aside to make room, Ash took his seat. “That doesn’t mean I canna have fun.”

  “Fun? You broke your finger!”

  “Only knocked a wee bit out of joint, but I snapped it back in place. See?” He held up his hand to show the finger in question, which was now straight, although a bluish, purple color. He bent it as far as the swelling would allow. “All fixed.”

  She sniffed and looked away.

  “A friendly tussle, lass. That’s all.”

  “And yet your hand is injured, Declan’s nose is still bleeding, and Thomas has that nasty bruise on his forehead.”

  “I dinna do that. The sight on the rifle left that mark.”

  “Which you caused. Brin told us all about it.”

  God love the lass.

  After helping her into her coat and draping the blanket over her knees, he picked up the reins and released the brake. The air had turned brisk yet was far from being cold, but he told his delicate English rose that if she needed additional warming, he would be happy to provide it.

  Or not, judging by her lack of response.

  Reining the horse in a tight circle, he pointed the buggy back the way they’d come, then snapped the whip in the air above the gelding’s rump.

  “Declan’s ears are still ringing,” his wife scolded as she tied the strings on her bonnet. “You’re demented. All of you.”

  The horse settled into a smooth pacer’s gait. Ash relaxed against the cushioned seat, scanning the road ahead for wildlife moving up from the creek. “It was only a prank, love. And they gave me a black eye first.”

  “What black eye? I see no black eye.”

  Was that worry in her voice? “I wiped it away.”

  She stared at him.

  “Black boot wax. And anyway, Redstone should be thanking me, so he should.”

  “For what?”

  He grinned. “Did you not see the way Miss Lincoln rushed to his side when she saw the wee mark on his head?”

  She pondered that, then gave a half smile. “He did seem rather incapacitated for such a minor injury.”

  “Aye. And enjoying every moment of her tender ministrations, poor lad.”

  “Grown men. Fighting. In front of the children.” She let out a great huff of air. “You could have injured your side. Or brought on another headache.”

  “I’m fine, lass.”

  “And who is going to mend your torn shirt?”

  Not you, I’m guessing. But he wisely keep that to himself and grinned at her instead.

  “Oh, hush.”

  Because the night was clear, the temperature dropped with the sun, and by the time they rolled into Heartbreak Creek, even Ash was noticing the cold. Not wanting Maddie to take a chill, he stopped at the hotel before going on to the livery. “I’ll wait while you get Agnes,” he told her as he lifted her from the buggy and set her directly on the stoop so her dainty shoes wouldn’t get mussed. “That way Tricks can tell her all about his big adventure as we walk back.”

  She went inside and a few minutes later returned with Agnes squirming in her arms. “Lucinda said there’s a man waiting to speak to me,” she said, handing the dog into the buggy. “Or rather to see A. Wallace. Perhaps that Zucker fellow. At any rate, I’ll speak to him now.” Her brown eyes flicked over him. She arched a brow. “Meanwhile, you might want to stop off at the washroom and clean yourself up. There’s blood on your coat. Or maybe that’s horse dung.”

  “Wait,” he said as she started away. Evil things happened in this wild place. And a woman as beautiful as his wife would always be noticed by both the good and the bad. “Are you sure you don’t want me with you?”

  “I’ll meet him in the lobby under the watchful eyes of Lucinda and Yancey. It will be entirely proper.”

  Ash was less worried about impropriety than safety. But he dinna want to crowd his wife, either. She was a capable woman. She dinna need a watchdog. “Send Yancey or Billy should you need me.”

  When Maddie entered the lobby after a quick stop in the washroom to tidy her hair, she found the blond gentleman Lucinda had pointed out earlier still slouching in one of the upholstered chairs, half hidden behind a tall fern.

  She studied him as she approached. He seemed closer in age to Ash than to her own twenty-­five years, and wore a poorly tailored suit and a shirt that had seen cleaner days, and impatiently bounced a dusty bowler hat on his crossed knee.

  “You wished to see me?” she asked, moving to stand before him.

  Startled, he looked up. When he saw her, he stood, hat in his hands. “A. Wallace?” he as
ked with a hesitant smile.

  “Yes.”

  His smile broadened as his gaze slid over her. “You’re a woman.”

  It was a lovely smile and might have rendered the man handsome, if not for the odd coldness in his mismatched eyes. Obviously he wasn’t a longtime resident, because he had most of his teeth and none were darkened with rusty stains. “I am.”

  He scratched his head. No doubt his overuse of hair pomade made his scalp itch. That, or lice. Wanting exposure to neither, Maddie inched back a step.

  “Kind of throws me, you being a woman, and all. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.” He gave a brusque laugh and hooked a thumb in his vest pocket.

  Maddie caught the scent of spirits in his breath. His hand showed several nicks and scars. She wondered if perhaps he was a miner.

  “Never heard of a female photographer. And English, by the sound of it.”

  “I assure you I am all three, Mr.…?”

  “Oh, right.” He dipped his head. “Aaron Zucker, ma’am.”

  Maddie nodded politely back.

  “I’m looking for my brother, Ephraim.”

  From the corner of her eye, Maddie saw Ash come in with the dogs and pause by the front desk to speak to Lucinda. They both looked her way, then Ash went up the stairs, the dogs trailing after him. At the top, he paused again and looked down at her in a way that made her skin tingle. She was debating signaling him to come down when his gaze shifted to the man before her. All gentleness left his face. Did he feel it, too? Although Mr. Zucker had not said or done anything to alarm her, there was still something…

  But then Ash turned and went on down the hall.

  “Yes, Mr. Zucker,” she said, turning her attention back to the tall man who was so blond his eyebrows appeared almost nonexistent. “I received your letter. You wrote you were to meet your brother in Omaha?”

  She saw a momentary confusion cross his face before he quickly covered it with that broad smile that brought little warmth to either his blue eye or the brown one with the odd, pale flecks. “Yep. That’s right. Omaha. But somehow I missed him, you see. And now I’m trying to track him down. I have this picture…”

  He reached into the inside pocket of his coat, which was of a cheap, knobby wool and showed substantial wear along the lapels and elbows. The cuffs were stained along the forearms, as if Mr. Zucker had the habit of wiping his mouth on his sleeve when he ate.

  He handed her a tintype that was smudged and frayed on the edges. “My brother sent me this a while back.” He pointed to her signature on the bottom. “See, it’s got your name on it. That’s how I found you. I believe you took this somewhere up north, maybe around the Blue River area. Do you remember it?”

  Maddie studied the image. A man standing outside a rustic cabin, his elbow resting on the handle of a tall pickax. She had taken dozens like it over the summer. Mr. Satterwhite might have known the man, or even the area where the photograph had been taken. He had carried a map of this whole territory in his head. But she saw nothing she recognized.

  She returned the photograph with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Mr. Zucker. But I took so many photographs over these last few months.”

  “You’re sure? Look at it again.” He thrust it toward her, the action brusque and a trifle menacing, as if he were jabbing with a knife.

  There was something about the tone of his voice and that coldness in his eyes that put Maddie off. Instead of taking it, she clasped her hands at her waist and shook her head. “I wish I could help you, Mr. Zucker. But I cannot.”

  He must have seen her wariness. He put on that smile again, which didn’t reassure her in the least. “I don’t mean to appear forward, ma’am. I’m worried about my brother, is all. If you could just take another look at it. Maybe you’ll see something in the area around the cabin or the creek. Anything would help. Please, ma’am.”

  Reluctantly, she took the photograph. There was something vaguely familiar about the surroundings. Maybe that stand of aspen or that odd-­shaped peak rising behind the cabin. But she couldn’t be sure. It looked like so many others.

  Again, she handed the photograph back. “I’ll think on it, Mr. Zucker. But I cannot promise anything. Perhaps when I return from Denver—­”

  “You’re going to Denver?”

  She almost stepped back, sorry she had mentioned it. “Yes, for the statehood convention.”

  “The Blue River area is on the way. If you take the left route over Hoosier Pass, you’ll be right on it. Maybe you’ll see something to jog your memory.”

  “I’m not sure which route we’ll take.” She glanced over to the front desk and caught Lucinda’s eye. “But if you will leave me your direction, I will send word if I remember anything.”

  “Ma’am—­”

  “Good evening,” Lucinda cut in, gliding up. “I’m sorry to interrupt.” She gave Zucker an apologetic smile before saying to Maddie, “Your husband is looking for you. He headed upstairs a few minutes ago with the dogs.” Maddie thought she might have put extra emphasis on “husband” and “dogs.” Clever lady, Lucinda.

  “Please leave your direction with Miss Hathaway here,” Maddie told Zucker. “If I remember anything, I will send word.” Then ignoring his attempt to delay her further, she bid them both good night and went up the stairs, thankful that the room was registered under the name of Ashby rather than Wallace.

  There was something odd about Mr. Zucker…

  When Maddie opened the door to the suite, she saw Ash seated in one of the chairs beside the sitting room window. He was leaning forward, elbows resting on his splayed knees as he studied dozens of photographs spread on the floor between his feet. The box in which they had been stored lay open by his chair.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, slipping off her coat.

  He picked up a photograph and studied it. “I watched you take this today.”

  She stepped closer to see which one he held. It was the ground-­level view of the rutted road stretching away to the mountains. It had turned out rather nicely, she thought. “Do you like it?” she asked, going back to hang her coat on a hook beside the door.

  “When I saw you lying on the ground behind your camera, I thought ‘what is that daft woman up to now?’ I dinna know what you were doing. Or what you saw. Now I understand.”

  “Understand what?”

  “ ’Tis magic you create, so it is. This picture pulls me in. It makes me want to be on that road. To follow it all the way to the mountains. The mystery. The freedom. The endless sky. You’ve captured it all right here. On this small square of paper.”

  His words brought tears to her eyes. How gratifying that a hardened, disciplined man like Ash, who had pattered his life around violent practicalities and unyielding realities, would appreciate the nuances of her work. “Thank you, Ash.”

  He looked up, his expression as serious as she had ever seen it. He looked quite…​defeated. “You have a gift, lass. I dinna realize how great it was until now. I dinna understand.”

  She came forward and knelt on the other side of the photographs, facing him. Sitting back on her heels, she tipped her head to study him. “Understand what, Ash?” she asked again.

  With a deep sigh, he slumped back, his eyes drifting closed. “I canna do it.” He said it so softly, she knew the remark was directed at himself, rather than her. But before she could question him on it, he abruptly changed the subject. “How was your meeting?”

  “What? Oh…” Troubled by his weary tone, she tried to inject energy into her voice as if to compensate for the lack of it in his. “It was Mr. Zucker. The man who sent the letter through Declan.”

  As she spoke, she sifted through the pictures, hoping to recognize the one Mr. Zucker had shown her. She always kept copies of her photographs. A vanity, perhaps. But she liked to look through them from time to time, to see if she had improved, or if one might have been better if taken from another perspective, or with a different angle of light.

 
“He showed me a photograph I had taken of his brother.” Sliding one from beneath the pile, she studied it. “This one, in fact. He wanted to know if I remembered taking it. He was most insistent about it.”

  Ash’s eyes opened. “How insistent?”

  “Nothing untoward. Just deeply disappointed that I didn’t recognize where I had taken it. But…”

  “But, what?”

  “There was something odd about him.”

  He sat up. Seeing the sudden concern on his face, she gave a dismissive wave. “I’m just being silly. Having Mr. Satterwhite gone has made me feel a bit…​exposed, as it were. Rather at loose ends.” She flashed a bright smile. “I keep forgetting I have you to watch over me now.”

  He didn’t smile back. “Lass.”

  That’s all. Just “lass.” But the way he said it sent a shiver of unease all through her body. There was a note of finality in it that made her thoughts scatter in panic.

  “What’s wrong, Ash?”

  “We must talk.”

  It was difficult to keep her voice from betraying her growing alarm. His tone sounded too much like his father’s had the morning he’d come into the garden to tell her that her parents were dead. Fearing what was to come, her whole body tightened, clenched inward as if to ward off a blow. “Talk about what?”

  It was a long time before he answered. “I’m not a patient man. I thought I could change your mind. But it would be wrong.”

  “What are you talking about?” But she knew. She could feel it coming. And a voice screamed in her head. No! Don’t do this.

  Clasping her hands tightly at her knees, she tried to remain calm and refrain from shouting at him. Was he going to demand she go back to Scotland? Now that he had broken through all her barriers and exposed her weakness where he was concerned, would he use that to try to control her?

  He leaned forward again, elbows on his knees. For a moment he stared down at the tintypes at his feet, then spread his big hands in a gesture of defeat. With a sigh, he lifted his head. “I canna do it, lass. I canna take you from this. It’s wrong.”