by Diane Darcy
“It’s getting done. We hired a couple more men for the job.”
Gabe grinned. “And we need to round up more tents.”
“We’ve already got twenty.”
“I know where you can get two more.”
Luke followed the voice to see there was a man behind bars. Charles Ivy, a tall, thin man, with thick white hair and a perpetual smile in his blue eyes stood clutching the iron bars.
“What are you doing in there, Charles?”
Charles shrugged. “You know, I’m not quite sure how I got here.”
“Gabe?” Luke asked.
Gabe’s shoulders hunched. “He walked across Main Street without looking both ways.”
“Did he endanger anybody?”
“Now, Luke, you know how dangerous it can be to cross that street. If you’re not looking out, you can spook a horse or something. The next thing you know, somebody is thrown and has a broken neck.”
Luke shook his head. “So you threw him in jail?”
Sawyer laughed. “He didn’t throw him in jail until Charles refused to gamble.”
“He didn’t want to gamble, he wanted a gambling lesson,” Charles protested, his demeanor remaining calm as always.
“Would it hurt him to teach me a few tricks?”
Luke rolled his eyes.
Charles cleared his throat. “Just so you know, I’m in favor of this gambling tournament. I just wish it didn’t cost so much to enter. Perhaps if it cost less for residents?”
Sawyer snorted. “Good try, old man.”
“It’s causing a lot of extra work,” Gabe said. “I seem to be spending a lot of time at the saloon, breaking up fights and such.”
“We’d planned on that. It’s just for the short term. What kind of problems are you running into?”
“Pretty much what you’d expect. Fights breaking out during poker games. Rowdies having too much to drink. Even some of the prostitutes are disturbing the peace.”
Luke nodded. “Less than a month, and this will all be over. In the meantime, perhaps I can help out more.”
“I wouldn’t want to cut into your pie time,” Gabe said scathingly.
Luke glared. “Pie time?”
“You know what I’m talking about. You’re spending an awful lot of time at the pie shop, sniffing around a certain lady.”
Luke clenched his jaw. “So what if I am?”
“Just sayin’.”
“What are you talking about?” Sawyer asked.
“They’re referring to the pretty young thing at the pie shop,” Charles inserted.
Sawyer’s chair dropped to the floor again, the front legs crashing with force. He stood, his shoulders bunching with muscle. “You’re sweet on Minnie?”
Luke arched a brow, surprised by the vehemence in Sawyer’s voice.
“No,” Gabe spoke up first. “The girl’s name is Grace. She’s new to town and pretty as a picture.”
Luke could feel himself getting angry again, but tried not to show it. Maybe he did need to worry about other things besides Grace’s curves, her lips, her laugh. But he was still getting his work done so it was nobody’s business. Especially Gabe’s.
The door to the office opened and a young couple who appeared to be in their thirties or so came inside. “Excuse me,” said a short, neat-looking gentleman. “I want to talk to somebody in charge. The sheriff, perhaps?”
Luke was glad for the interruption. “I’m Luke Carrington, Mayor of Orchard City, and this is Sheriff Gabe Kildare. How can we help you?”
The man smiled and held out his hand. “I am Josiah Winters. This is my wife, Mrs. Winters. We’ve just arrived, and were wondering if there’s any property for sale hereabouts?”
“Are you here for the tournament?”
“We are. We arrived a bit early, thinking we might look around.”
Luke sized up their prosperous clothing, the cultured way they spoke, and couldn’t squash a spurt of excitement.
“Do you have children?”
“We do. Three young ones, ages fourteen, twelve, and nine. All girls.”
Luke smiled. This was exactly what he was hoping for—decent folk discovering this place and maybe settling in town, perhaps starting businesses and telling others. “Well, you’re quite welcome here,” Luke said warmly. “I’d be glad to show you around.”
It was happening. It was really happening. “So where are you from? How did you hear about the tournament?”
“I saw a poster in Cincinnati. I’m a lawyer, and we’ve been wanting to move west. Searching for cleaner air for our youngest. The description of Orchard City captured our attention as much as the tournament.”
Luke exchanged glances with his friends.
“My husband does love to gamble,” Mrs. Winters gazed at her husband fondly. “But not too much, or too often, right?”
Her husband chuckled.
One of the first people he’d introduce the couple to was Mrs. Braxton. He personally wanted to see the look on her face when she saw his plan coming to fruition.
As far as he was concerned, this was just the beginning.
Chapter 11
Ogden, Utah
Matt Thorne could practically smell madness on the brute sitting across from him.
“What do you need? More money?” Mr. Smith’s voice was calm, raspy. The words were pleasant enough, but Matt had the distinct impression that if he agreed, something … bad might happen.
“No. Money is not the issue.”
When Matt didn’t add anything, Mr. Smith shifted muscular shoulders, uncrossed his legs, then folded his big hands over his lap. His eerie amber gaze studied Matt once more. “What, exactly, is the issue?”
“I’m a private investigator, Mr. Smith, not a miracle worker. I’m sorry I couldn’t find the girls, but I’d like to remind you that in protecting their reputations, you didn’t supply me with any names. Still, I’d be glad to refund your money.”
It actually hurt to say it, because he liked money as much as the next man, and he’d originally intended to keep feeding the man information. But now, even if he’d found them, there was no way he was turning two young girls over to this nutter. He had a daughter of his own and, granted, she was about a decade younger, but the thought of this man turned loose on her made him shudder. Something wasn’t right about the situation, and something was definitely wrong with Mr. Smith.
The man simply stared. Waited.
Matt’s gaze dropped to the flower in the man’s lapel—an orchid? The fragrance was light, pleasant in the closed room. He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t expecting to see you. In person, I mean.” He also hadn’t expected to see Mr. Smith in a wig, makeup, and fake mustache—but hey, to each his own. The faster he got rid of the gent, the better.
“And yet,” Mr. Smith lifted big hands. “Here I am. Asking for the information for which I’ve already paid.”
The chill that ran up Matt’s spine never lied. The man was dangerous. “As I said, I’ll be glad to refund your money.”
“I don’t want money, Mr. Thorne. What I want is what I paid for. I want information on two girls who came out west on the train. Are you telling me that after ten days you don’t have any news whatsoever? Have interviewed no one?”
Matt’s gaze flickered to his desk drawer. His pride stinging, he inhaled then released the breath slowly. He was no hero, and the man scared him. “Are you sure there are two girls?”
The man’s gazed sharpened. “Why do you ask?”
“Because if there was only one, I might have something for you.” If he could throw the man a crumb perhaps he could get him out of there and still keep the money. Win, win.
“Tell me about the one girl.”
Matt relaxed slightly. The girl did match the description his client had given for one of the girls, but as he was searching for two, it might simply be coincidence. Besides, if it would get him out of there, Matt was all for it. “The girl’s name is Miss Penelope Carmichael. She tr
aveled alone.”
Something sinister shifted in the man’s gaze.
The hair rose on the back of Matt’s neck and he found he couldn’t rat the girl out, after all. “I’m just waiting for the final piece of information.”
When Mr. Smith leaned back, some of the tension left Matt’s shoulders.
“What sort of information.”
“We know the girl got off the train in San Francisco. We’re waiting to find out exactly where she went from there.”
“Where she went?”
Matt could feel himself sweating and his gaze flickered to his desk drawer once more. “It’s a huge hub. She could’ve gone north, she could’ve gone south, or she could have stayed in San Francisco. I have a man scouring the area. I’m just waiting to hear. As soon as I did, I was planning to send my report to you to see if this lone girl might be of interest.”
There was a long pause, until finally, Mr. Smith stirred in his chair. “Mr. Thorne. I think you know more than you’re telling me.”
Again the hair on Matt’s neck rose. “What do you mean?”
Mr. Smith pulled a gun out of his jacket pocket and pointed it directly at Matt. Matt stilled even as blood rushed through his veins. He had a gun in his desk drawer, but like a rabbit sensing a predator, he felt—no—he knew if he lunged for it, he’d be dead before he had it in hand. “What are you doing? The girl … she …”
Without any hesitation, Mr. Smith pulled the trigger and the noise exploded in the small room.
Pain and raw disbelief enveloped Matt as, ears ringing, he slumped forward onto the desk—as he tried to breathe.
Mr. Smith approached, opened Matt’s desk drawer, and reached inside. He pulled out the top piece of paper and read the words aloud. “Miss Penelope Carmichael, Orchard City, California. It seems you knew her exact location after all, Mr. Thorne.”
Matt choked on his blood as it gushed from his mouth. He’d intended to telegraph the information to his client later that day. If Mr. Smith had waited just one more day, Matt would have lived through this. If he hadn’t been protecting a girl he didn’t even know, he might not be gasping for his last breaths right this minute.
Mr. Smith took the flower out of his lapel, placed it beside Matt’s face, and left the room.
He couldn’t smell the flower anymore, but he could feel himself growing colder. Regret rushed through him. His brother had wanted him to move to Chicago. He’d wanted him to work with him in the stockyards. The money was good, but the job hadn’t been exciting enough.
Next, his wife and daughter flashed through his mind. His office was isolated. Cheap. He hadn’t needed an expensive one in his line of work. Though he knew it was midday, his vision darkened and he could hear the steady drip of his blood as it ran off the desk and onto the floor.
He hoped his wife wasn’t the one who found him.
He wished he would have listened to his brother.
“Let’s move it a little more to the left.”
Grace helped Minnie shift the second table a few inches over the grass before setting it down again. “Is this good?”
Mrs. Braxton nodded, her expression satisfied. “That’s perfect. Now let’s lay out the tablecloths and we can set pies on one, and baskets on the other.”
As Grace helped set up for the town picnic, the other ladies bustled around her, and she felt a spurt of both worry and excitement. The Mayor would be there soon; no question about that. He was giving a speech. Grace set her own basket on the table, fussed with the ribbons, and glanced around to see if anybody saw what she was doing. She didn’t want to give herself away. It was a charming tradition, and she was excited to participate.
Minnie headed over to bump shoulders with her. “You look nice.”
Grace smoothed her rose-colored skirt. “Thank you.” She studied Minnie’s soft yellow dress with its lacy square neckline and gathered waist. The color set off her blonde hair beautifully. “You look nice too.”
“Is there anyone special you want to bid on yours?”
At the teasing tone, Grace’s cheeks heated. “How would anyone know it’s mine, anyway?”
Minnie shrugged. “Oh, you know, a small hint there, a whisper in the right ear, a telling glance. Perhaps your hands settling on your box and fussing with the ribbons?”
As she’d been doing exactly that only moments before, Grace blushed again. “I didn’t actually cook any of it. Does that matter?”
“Just pretend you did. It’ll give your new beau a chance to praise you. If you really want a special young man to know which is yours, there are ways to get your point across.” Minnie was openly laughing at her discomfiture.
Mrs. Thomas, Pearl’s mother, dragged her daughter over and helped find the perfect place for the girl’s basket. She fussed about while giving her daughter advice. Pearl looked agonized and Grace felt a spurt of pity. This wouldn’t be a good experience for Pearl. Going off to eat with a strange man who purchased her basket? Grace was a little nervous about it herself. She could only imagine that the shy girl must be trembling inside and out.
Grace bent her head toward Minnie. “Now tell me again how the basket game is played. We never did anything like this in New York.”
Minnie smiled, her excitement obvious. “Each basket is held up and bid upon, and the winner of the bid gets to eat lunch with the lady who made the basket. Easy peasy.”
“Easy?” Grace glanced at Pearl again and pity for the girl escalated. She turned to Minnie. “Who do you want to win your basket?”
Minnie shrugged and looked resigned. “Sawyer, of course. But knowing him, he won’t bid at all, let alone be watching for any hints I might give.”
Grace sent her friend a look of sympathy.
Minnie’s glance was sly again. “So, who do you want to bid on your basket? As if I don’t know.”
Grace’s lips pursed together. She didn’t want Luke to bid, she reminded herself. But she knew she was lying. She looked at Minnie’s knowing expression and rolled her eyes. “No one in particular. Anyone will do. It’s just lunch after all,” she answered flippantly.
Minnie laughed and patted her on the arm. “You just keep telling yourself that.” Minnie glanced up at the sky. “I hope it doesn’t rain. Spring showers are fun and all, but not during a picnic.”
An hour or so later, they had the pies set out, and the crowd was growing. Grace was speaking to a thirtyish man from back east, someone from her own part of the world, when Luke approached.
“Can I talk to you?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, but I’m busy right now. Perhaps later?”
Luke looked as if he might belabor the point, then with a shake of his head, moved away.
When she glanced around a minute later, he was staring at her from across the park.
She considered going and talking to him when a smiling cowboy approached. As Luke started to cross to her, she may have flirted a little more than necessary with the young man.
Luke stopped beside her again. “Excuse me, Grace, or rather, Miss Carmichael?”
“Yes?”
Luke looked impatient. “I—”
“Grace?” Mrs. Braxton called her. “I need you to help wrap these pies, please.”
“Of course.” Grace excused herself and headed over to stand behind the table.
Luke scowled.
Grace felt conflicted. If she wasn’t nice to him, he probably wouldn’t bid on her basket. She wanted Luke to bid, but at the same time, that might cause problems. So maybe she didn’t want him to. Oh, good grief! She didn’t know what she wanted!
Just when Luke headed her way again, his name was called. He moved up onto the platform, glanced around the crowd, and started to speak. “Welcome, good citizens of Orchard City. It’s so wonderful to see such a great turnout to our annual June picnic. I know we don’t always see eye to eye; the latest example being the fact some of you aren’t exactly excited about the gambling tournament that’s to take place in a couple of wee
ks.”
Murmurs and chuckles raced through the crowd and more people headed over so they could hear what he was saying.
“Well, the tournament will come and go, but what’s exciting is what will stay behind. The money we make off of this tournament is going to build us a new school.”
Several in the crowd cheered.
“What about decency?” Mrs. Braxton shouted out. “Will there be any of that left, do you think?”
“I can promise you, it’s going to be a very decent school.”
More in the crowd laughed.
“You know what I mean, Mayor Carrington. We do not want our town used as your very own playground to exploit as you see fit. We are decent, God-fearing folk. And we’d like to keep it that way!”
“Here, here,” several in the audience shouted out.
Mrs. Braxton wasn’t finished. “If you don’t stop this upcoming tournament, what grand scheme will you come up with next time?”
Luke smiled. “I’m certainly open to any suggestions you might have for creating income for Orchard City. In the meantime, the good reverend here is about to start the bidding on the baskets. If anybody here would like to eat lunch with a pretty lady, now is your chance.”
A cheer went up in the crowd and Mrs. Braxton’s expression darkened.
Reverend Dutton, appearing self-important, climbed onto the platform. “Elijah, will you bring me the first basket?”
Elijah, also self-important in his role, snatched up a basket and walked it over to the reverend, arms outstretched.
“And who will bid on this stunning basket?” Reverend Dutton peeked inside. “Whoever put this together did a wonderful job. It looks like there’s some mighty good food to eat in here. Shall we start the bidding?”
The first three baskets went quickly, and the lucky winners found the lady belonging to the basket and headed toward the pond. Grace’s basket was up next. She couldn’t help but glance at Luke again.
He stared right at her.
Remembering Minnie’s advice, she nodded toward her basket.
The reverend held it up. “This beribboned beauty could belong to any number of pretty girls out there. Any bids?”
