Churchill followed carefully but with a much jauntier bounce to his walk. The man did not seem to be there with the same purpose as the other two. Perhaps Churchill was the man Wall needed to talk to. Get answers from him. He suspected the way to do that was through the lake.
* * * *
“Churchill,” Wall called out as the men meandered toward the train. The man in question noticeably downtrodden as he followed his two coworkers. Their time at the camp was about to end, but he’d yet to get the man alone, and he had just enough time to take the man out to the fishing hole.
The previous night, Wall had wanted to take Victoria back up to Mother Goose’s Cottage, but the dry lightning crashing off the mountainside prevented any outings of the clandestine sort. Gentleman his mother raised him to be, he’d escorted her to her railcar instead.
Today, she and the men had done one last round of the lake and camps, and prepared for the trip back down the mountain.
But first, fishing.
Not that Wall was a big fisherman himself, but the man now walking toward him from the group of stuffy dandies appeared to be more than an enthusiast when it came to the rod-and-reel sport.
“Did you get a chance to check the lake for your brown trout?”
He shook his head, his face cast down. “No. Those two Helena boys have kept me busy until sundown every day.”
“Are you busy now?”
“Just waiting for the train to head down.”
“Victoria says it’ll be another hour before you head out.” He motioned to where he stowed a couple of poles against a log near the path to the lake. “I’ve borrowed a few poles from the Bonner cook’s boy. Wanna have a look and see if your browns have made it to Seeley?”
“Let me just tell Smith and Peters.” Churchill disappeared down the tracks following the other men. In a few minutes, he returned with a smile, and a small black satchel. “Shall we?”
Wall waved down the path, and Churchill took the lead. Wall scooped up the poles as they walked by the log. After a few quiet minutes, they drew near the lake. Wall handed Churchill one of the poles, and pointed to another path off to the side. “I know a good spot at the mouth of the river. It’s up the path a few minutes.”
The man’s smile stretched across his face even more, and he juggled his pole in his hand and headed in the direction Wall indicated.
“Where we’re going is the best fishing hole on the lake.” At least that’s what the Bonner cook’s boy told him. In his experience, out in the middle in a bateau was a good choice in fishing spot, but when faced with the rare dilemma of no boat, he’d had to make do with the boy’s advice.
“Excellent. The mouth of the river is the perfect spot to see any coming and going as well.”
Wall rounded the familiar bend in the river where they’d tied the raft the year before to keep it away from a saboteur hell-bent on destroying the river drive, and headed toward a large boulder situated near the bank.
“You seem different from your colleagues out there. If you don’t mind me saying so. A bit more easygoing.” He set down his gear and began to prep it as Churchill did the same.
“We’re from different worlds, to be certain.” The man gave the sort of nod that showed the silly chaos running through his brain, and then pulled out a pen and paper from his satchel and began to write on the top page. Sort of like a pinecone bobbing in the middle of the lake. Wall smiled. Whatever the other two’s intentions, this man was anything but malicious. Too bad he had to use him for information. It felt sinful to deceive such a happy soul.
“So how’d you join up with the likes of those two?”
“Oh…I…I…was in the office when the judge came in to ask us who wanted to go up and do a survey of the logging operation.” Churchill set down his paper and pencil, picked up the rod, and then flicked his wrist. The line flew into the water to land with a plop far out into the deepest spot within distance to them. “I’ve been wanting to get up here to check out the progression of the fish. Catching a ride on Miss Harrison’s railcar was an even better way to get up the mountain than I’d hoped. We even had lunch served to us.”
Wall half chuckled at the comment and tossed his line into the water. He sat back against the boulder to wait. Of course, Victoria would have wooed them on the train. In all the years Wall had ridden to the logging camp, he’d spent his trip on the cold, hard floor of a box car. Crammed in next to other loggers and equipment. His only meal during the long ride up the mountain had been whatever he’d brought with him, and men never thought to bring food on trips of that length. “Miss Victoria is quite a woman. Never had a boss like her.”
Churchill answered with a nod.
Wall continued, “It’s a shame she’s only found out she had a brother.”
Churchill answered with a shake of his head and tsk, and he concentrated on adjusting his line in the water.
Well, this is turning out to be a waste of time.
“Have you ever met her brother?” Wall asked, hoping a question would motivate the conversation.
“Me? No,” Churchill said, without taking his eyes off the water. “But I hear he’s got some sort of deal with the mayor for a school or something.”
“What do you mean?” Wall reeled in the line the slightest of bit, and then let it come to rest at the bottom once more.
“This thing with Montana becoming a state has the agencies all busy.” Churchill chanced a look at him, away from his coveted pole. “It’s going to happen, you know. Montana’s finally going to become a state. Those of us on the inside are certain of these things.” He turned his focus to the line once more. “I figure it wouldn’t hurt to tell you since you’re up here and away from people. Anyway, the local government is gearing up to make some changes. We’re going to be making schools and such, and we’ll need timber for that. They plan to run their own mills to get the wood. Rumor has it this Luther guy is going to oversee the mill operation for Missoula schools.”
“Luther?” Wall couldn’t help but let his voice show his shock. This was news to him, but would explain why he was trying to get control over the mill. The sidewinder didn’t want to connect with family, or have a stake in the ‘family’ business. It was about the mill, and possibly revenge.
Churchill must have caught the subtle hint, because he glanced his way. “Yes. He had an excellent resume. Luther had timber training, and his father once owned a mill somewhere. They had some legal battle over the grounds or something, and he lost it to his partner. So they are trying to get it back.”
“Yeah, except it isn’t theirs to get back,” Wall said under his breath.
Churchill frowned. “Are you certain? Luther is Miss Victoria’s brother, and the judge said he’s entitled to half the land at least.”
“The judge told you that before you even came up here?”
Churchill turned a deep red. “Blast! I probably shouldn’t have said that. The court proceeding is still going on from what I hear.”
“Do you work for the judge?”
“Oh no, no. I just work for the cities assessor’s office. Not the judge himself.”
“Then how do you know all of this?”
Churchill tugged on his line and his attention jerked to the water as he began to reel in a catch. “We’re in the same building as the judge. People say all kinds of things around me thinking I ain’t there. I overheard Luther and the older guy talking to the judge after Miss Victoria left with her men.”
“And you didn’t think to mention this to her earlier?”
Churchill shrugged, and eased the hook out of the mouth of a bull trout, only to release it back into the water. “My business is to get the value of the property, and I can’t afford to find myself on the bad side of the judge, so I keep to myself.”
“But you told me.”
“I figure you can help the lady out
in whatever way you can. If you had the proper information.” He set his hook again, and threw it in the water.
“Were you going to tell me if we hadn’t had this time to talk?”
“I’d planned to leave an anonymous note, but I ain’t no martyr. With these two hounds following me, I couldn’t take the risk. Not with this brown program we’ve got going on.”
“You don’t trust the other two?” Wall tried to make the question sound subtle, but in all honesty, he didn’t think there was any way he could have.
“They aren’t here to assess the land. From what I understand, the man they spoke of…the one who died, he was an assessor like me. They aren’t. I can tell by the way they are looking at the land. They aren’t numbers and value.”
“No?”
“Nope. More like faults and follies.”
“Great Mountain follies?” Wall frowned. Victoria ran a clean operation and in all his years working for her father they’d prided themselves in the way their operation outshined their competition in all ways. Including its impact in the forest around them.
“They were talking about the widowmakers up there like you climbed up a pine and hung them yourself. Can’t imagine why. It ain’t like they could have been prevented, the way I understand it.”
“No, they couldn’t. Those are made by falling nearby trees.”
“You didn’t hear this from me, but do you see that ridge over there?” Churchill pointed to a hill on the other side of the valley.
“Yes.”
“Peters and Smith said the territorial office in Helena plans to scoop that up and make it into range land for some of these local homesteads. The land will come right up to Luther’s lumber mill land.” Churchill rubbed his chin. “Come to think of it, I’d venture to guess that’s why they gave Great Mountain some clear-cut permits and some not. They were making meadows.”
“Makes me wonder why they’d give her selective permits for this last one, then.”
Churchill rubbed the side of his face and frowned. “Beats me. Maybe to force her out with this court case?”
Wall let the topic drop, and sat silent. What the fisherman next to him didn’t realize was he’d given more information than he’d intended.
The land Nichols planned to turn into agriculture land was the large chunk of land right smack in the middle of the Great Mountain lumber camp, and the edge of the Lazy Heart property line. After all, his father had expanded the property size by at least forty-thousand acres since Wall had been alive. The two faces of Wall’s life were separated by only the valley where Seeley Lake lay; logging on one side, and his family’s cattle ranch on the other. Although most at Great Mountain knew he was a cowboy, they didn’t know where it was he came from.
Seeley Lake was a hypothetical fence for Wall. On one side was Victoria and the riverman job that he loved, and the other was his family and cowboy life, which he adored.
And in the center Nichols’s attention had been drawn—a man placed firmly in his father’s pocket. There was no doubt in Wall’s mind who put the territorial office’s focus to the valley and mill land.
Chapter 10
Victoria watched her corset burn in her bedroom fireplace. She was sick of the thing. Why did women’s fashion always force one to sacrifice comfort for beauty? Well, she was done. From now on she planned to wear only what she could bend over in without having to stretch her leg out to balance.
Once satisfied the blasted fabric was well on its way to a fiery death, she dusted her hands and turned toward her door. Somewhere in her house, a stack of mail waited to be sorted from her time up in the mountains, and she suspected she had more at the mill.
The blessed silence of nothing but her movements echoed off her walls as she made her way through her house, and to her desk. She sat and began to sort through the mail left by her servant, only to stop when she got to a wire sent the day before yesterday.
She ripped it open, and immediately began to panic as tears threatened to fall.
“Ms. Bates! Ms. Bates!” Victoria screamed as she scrambled around her desk. By the time she reached the door, her maid opened it. “Did you read this when you put it in my office?”
“No, miss. It ain’t none of my business.”
“It’s from Paul. Father’s missing on a mountain called Hurricane Ridge over past Seattle.”
“What? Where is your mother?”
“I don’t know.” Victoria began to pace. “All I know is this.” She handed her maid the short wire she’d received from Paul upon getting to Seattle. “It simply says father is missing on Hurricane Ridge. Wait for further information.”
“Oh, dear. That’s out near Port Angeles. On the peninsula.” The older maid plopped down in a nearby seat and batted at her chest. “I do hope your dear mother isn’t with him. Why would he go up there? What were they doing?”
“I haven’t a clue, but we need answers.” Victoria struggled to keep her emotions in check, which she’d learned to do in finishing school in London, but ever since taking over the mill this year, she’d found controlling the tears burning behind her eyes had become increasingly difficult. “I’m going to make certain there isn’t anything at the mill that needs my attention, and then run into town and send a wire to Paul. If I’m lucky he’ll respond right away. Could you have the boys in the stables bring my buggy around front?”
“Yes, ma’am. And I’ll keep an eye on the post for any more letters.” Ms. Bates blinked rapidly, and stood to bustle out of the room.
Victoria set her teeth and strode out of the house toward the mill office. She had only a few steps between her front door, and the door to the office, but it was enough to give her a jolt of mountain-fresh air wafting down from the nearby hillside across the river.
Since spending time up at the camp, she’d grown to love the effects the atmosphere up there had on her. The freedom it provided. She could exist up there the way she wanted with no one to tell her how to dress or who to be. She could almost make love to a man in a cabin in the middle of nowhere surrounded by nothing but trees, and no one would know but she and Wall.
She needed that again. Needed Wall again. The way he made her feel with his expert touch. How he took away all the problems that existed in her life and made them disappear. Even in her office it hadn’t been the way it was at Mother Goose’s Cottage, and he hadn’t even made love to her. She’d wanted him too. Even more now than before.
With each moment she spent with the filthy cowboy turned riverman, she grew more and more lost to the ways of his world. Ways so new to her. Ones she’d grown up believing were beneath her. Were somehow for the less fortunate, but Wall was different.
The pile of mail on her desk rivaled the one from home, so she plucked it up and examined the letters. With nothing of importance, she pivoted, and hurried outside.
The ride to Missoula was long enough to set her imagination rolling with each bump in the road as to where her father might be. Had he fallen from a cliff, or been eaten by a mountain lion? And why in Hades name was he in Port Angeles to begin with? They’d gone to Seattle to visit her mother’s ailing sister, and not to traipse around the mountain side.
Now, she wasn’t so certain. Her father always had something up his sleeve. What was it, and where was he? He certainly wasn’t dead. She’d feel it in her soul if he were. Wouldn’t she?
By the time she’d come to the conclusion that her father had some backwards scheme planned and had disappeared according to his own machinations, she rolled up to the telegraph station and parked.
As Paul had done before, she stepped assuredly into the building, head held high.
“Anything for Great Mountain?” she announced as she entered. As though they should know who she was.
“Yes, miss.” The clerk scrambled. “Came in this morning, in fact.”
He rummaged through a stack of pape
rs, and held it out to her. “You are Miss Victoria Harrison, are you not?”
She looked at him as if he were daft, but truth be told, she’d only seen the young man once, so she couldn’t fault him. “Of course.”
She grabbed the paper, and read it, but the news hadn’t changed with the exception of her mother. Her father was still missing, and Paul was still searching, but he did state that her mother was with her sister in Seattle.
“Can you send a message to Paul Clark at 1800 Hill Street in Seattle?”
“What would you like it to say?” The clerk took a blank transcript paper off the stack and began to write.
“Send Mother home.”
The clerk typed it out and nodded.
“Thank you,” she said, and gave him a coin from the wrist bag she kept around her arm whenever she went to town.
She’d planned to stop by her parents’ house to check on the situation with their servants and see if they’d heard any chatter before heading back to the mill.
It took her less than a quarter of an hour to traverse the streets to her parents’ house. She leapt from the buggy just as someone from her father’s barn came out to greet her.
“I won’t be long,” she said as he took the reins and she leapt from the seat. “In and out.”
Without another word to the servant, she ran into the house and searched the rooms. In the sitting rooms, the small maid her mother had hired recently cleaned underneath the desk.
“Miss,” she said to get the girls attention. “Has there been any news about my parents?”
“No, ma’am,” the girl answered.
Victoria checked the mail, but finding nothing of importance, she turned to leave when a knock on the door sounded.
“I’ll answer it,” she told the maid.
In a few steps, she opened the door to reveal Luther, standing with a smug grin plastered on his greasy face.
“Dearest sister,” he said the words more as a jeer than an endearment, and it made Victoria want to forget all the years of refinement she’d been taught and punch him square in the jaw.
Fiery Passion Page 13
