“We can discuss it tonight because we’re all going to Nacho’s.”
Jack’s reply struck a discordant twang through her body. He’d turned their romantic dinner into a family outing. Would they ever get a moment alone together? Did Jack even want that?
Hounded by such questions, their meal promised to be long and dismal.
“Let’s go.” Gus elbowed Jack in the side and angled his head toward her coat.
She reached the door before he could and donned the garment without his assistance. With no sustained interest on his part, she’d do well to maintain her distance. If she accidentally touched him and he pulled away, she’d burn red with embarrassment.
When both men had their coats on, Jack paused with his hand on the door handle and gave his grandfather a tired but also determined look. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“If I am, I’m sure you’ll tell me. Eventually.”
“Your walking stick?”
“Don’t reckon I need it tonight or any night.” Despite his words, Gus grabbed the stick and waved it at Jack. “But it’s easier to take it than to argue with you about not taking it.”
After they trooped outside and locked the door behind them, they trudged in a row with her in the middle. Nobody touching. Everyone silent. If one didn’t count Gus muttering under his breath as he stabbed the snowy ground with his stick.
The resonant but muted pounding that’d come from the mine all day now seemed unduly loud in the hushed silence outdoors. What caused the noise? Some sort of mining device, no doubt. Normally she would’ve asked what kind, but her gloomy mood had stifled her curiosity.
When they drew even with the Golden Nugget Saloon, Gus halted. “Time for us to part ways.”
“What happened to going to Nacho’s?” Jack asked in a weary voice.
“Did I say I was going?”
“You said let’s go.”
“I only did what was needed to get you within spitting distance of yer destination. And now that I have, I’m rewarding myself with a visit to the Nugget.” With his stick propped on his shoulder, Gus beelined for the saloon’s doors and disappeared inside.
Worry knotted Birdie’s stomach. “Will he be all right?”
“Once he’s in the saloon he usually doesn’t come out till I drag him out. I’ll do that on my way home.”
“Bonté divine! He likes to drink that much?”
“He likes to talk that much.”
She burst into laughter. It doubled her over and brought tears to her eyes. She couldn’t stop. She didn’t want to when Jack’s laughter joined hers.
“Oh, I haven’t laughed that hard in years.”
“Same here,” Jack replied with a grin that dazzled her. “I should clarify, though. Gus does enjoy a glass of beer and if he’s drinking with Ezra Thornton, Storm's grandfather, he’ll easily enjoy more than one.”
“Your grand-père is…” She paused in search of the right word.
“A pain the backside.”
“Au contraire. He is a pain in the everywhere. C’est tout un fauteur de troubles. Still, I appreciate his consistency and adore his moments of spontaneity even more.”
“I enjoy seeing you relax when you speak French.”
She shook her head. “To speak that language is unwise.”
“How so?”
“Madame Bonheur has a French accent.”
“Not like yours. Yours is beautiful, honest, real.”
“Reality is complicated. The madam’s entire life is artifice and mimicry.” We all do what we need to survive. “Even her name is tricky. Bonheur means happiness. Or even good luck or fortune. I’ve heard that several of her girls took French-inspired aliases as well. Boum Boum, Jolie, Angélique.”
“I’ve wondered about your name. Birdie Bell doesn’t sound French. Isn’t Bell an English or Irish name?”
“You’re missing my point.” Or maybe he’d sensed the part she wanted to remain hidden. Answer, avoid, ask another question. “People make judgments about the French. They expect we will behave a certain way. How can that be good?”
“Folks judge almost everyone. But we aren’t everyone.” Jack took a step closer to her and his voice dropped to a husky murmur. “We’ve agreed to be husband and wife.”
His sudden change in manner made her eager and uneasy. “Shouldn’t we continue on to the diner?”
“Don’t hide who you are from me, Birdie Bell.”
“Aren’t you hungry?”
“Tell me again why you sold the curtains.”
“Because someone wanted it.”
“You wanted it as well. You shouldn’t have had to give it up.”
“I made it out of anger, which is regrettable. I can be hotheaded at times.” Like my brothers.
“And your dress?”
“The fabric was the closest I could find to something resembling a peregrine. I made it for you. But you didn’t mention it.”
“Because I was too busy looking at you.”
Birdie flushed and couldn’t say a word.
He watched her closely. “What did you hope would happen when I saw your dress?”
“That I’d fit in with your family. That I’d impress you.”
“You’ve impressed me greatly.”
“But when you first saw me, I did not. Why did you say no so vigorously when I told your grandfather my name?”
“I was married before.”
“You wrote this in your letter.”
“Lorena shared your small size. But you seem completely different.”
Gus had used that word to describe Lorena as well. “How was your wife different?”
“One day she just up and disappeared. We searched but never found her. Then earlier this year we hired a pair of trackers recommended by Sheriff Draven.”
The word trackers made her stiffen as much as the word pair. Most people used the term bounty hunters. But Lachlan Bravery had always been referred to as a man tracker or fugitive hunter. Lachlan and his wife were now a team of trackers.
“They say Draven collected bounties.”
“He still does.”
“So, what prevented him from doing your job himself?”
“He was laid up with injuries. He hasn’t recovered from them.”
She nodded. That explained Draven’s limp.
“And Lorena didn’t have a bounty attached to her name. She was merely missing.” Jack’s voice turned hoarse. “Or so we thought.”
She forced herself to ask, “Do your trackers have a name?”
“The Braverys.”
The confirmation constricted her throat like a hangman’s noose. “You’ve met them?”
“They came to Noelle to deliver their report. A very diligent couple.”
Had they told Jack something about her as well? That was a question she couldn’t ask. She could only scan his face for a hint of an answer.
Jack stared at the ground, his expression grim. “They found my wife’s grave and more. They unearthed why I couldn’t locate her. She’d assumed another name.”
“Well, if it ain’t Bernadette Bellamy,” a guttural voice proclaimed.
Her heart raced with disbelief as she spun to face a past that wouldn’t leave her in peace.
A pair of dark silhouettes—one tall and lanky, the other somewhat shorter and a whole lot stouter, strode out of the alleyway beside the Golden Nugget. When the saloon’s lamplights revealed their faces, the greed glinting in their narrowed eyes made her skin crawl.
“You’re mistaken,” Jack moved to stand between her and them. “The lady’s name is Miss Bell.”
The men halted. The taller one straightened his frame to tower over even Jack’s lofty height. His companion thrust out his chest and widened his stance. Having puffed themselves up as much as they could, Stretch and Stout fixed their glares on Jack.
He didn’t back down.
She couldn’t let them hurt him. She tugged his coat sleeve. “We should go.” Her
voice came out uneven and low, like the croak of a crow.
“Not before these men tell us their names and what they’re doing here.”
If they knew her name, they’d approached her for one thing—her brothers’ last heist, the lost shipment of stolen gold.
“Who are you?” Jack’s growled question made her cringe until she remembered he was asking the men and not her.
“We work at the mine,” Stout snarled back.
Jack snorted. “Unlikely. You aren’t familiar, and my business brings me in contact with The Drum’s owner and his men.”
Stout’s glower turned annoyed. “I said we were miners. Not drummers.”
“The Drum is what the mayor calls his mine.” Jack raised a brow in challenge. “If you worked for him, you’d know that. You aren’t very good with names.”
“But I’ve a keen eye for women.” Stout’s gaze raked her. “Still a pretty little thing. You ain’t grown an inch.”
“You’re strangers to me.” That wasn’t completely true. While she’d never met them, she knew their kind well. They’d hounded her for too many years. “Go away.”
“Never was the sociable sort. Always hiding behind your—”
“I don’t know you!”
“But you know what we want. Don’t you, Miss Bell?”
Stout’s tall partner finally spoke in a wheezing voice that reminded her of those who’d spent too much time underground with noxious fumes. “Tell us where to dig.”
Thousands of miles away. North of the border. Somewhere along the Cariboo Trail. She knew as much as them. It didn’t matter. Now that they’d recognized her, they wouldn’t give up.
And neither could she. Answer. Avoid. Ask another question. Run away. But only when Jack was out of harm’s way.
She pulled harder on his sleeve. “Let’s go. I cannot help them. No one ever shared any lessons about digging with me.” She didn’t ask a question. She didn’t want the conversation to continue.
Stout huffed in irritation. “Is that so?”
“My only talent is sewing.”
“Then why are you here?” Stretch demanded in his rasping voice.
Stout’s gaze skewered her. “A mining town has no call for a sewer.”
“You’re wrong,” Jack snapped. “She’s needed here. But out of work miners who accost people in the streets are not. Go try your luck in another town.”
“Can’t.” Stretch coughed, swallowed convulsively and rushed to finish. “Our only prospects are here.”
Stout nodded. “We’ll stay and see how they pan out.”
The desperation darkening their voices snared her attention. She scanned their clothing. Torn in many places with only a couple of crude patches and even those tearing free again. The attire of men who’d lost hope. Until they found her.
“Stay away from Miss Bell,” Jack said in an unforgiving tone, “or you’ll regret it.”
A smirk contorted Stout’s mouth. “That’s mighty big talk for a man who carries no gun and has only one leg.”
Jack raised his hands, his fingers balled into fists, ready to strike. Birdie seized his arm and held on tight.
He froze under her touch. When he finally spoke, his tone was as rigid as his posture. “I may be missing a leg, but I have my wits and friends with the same. If you’ve been in town long enough to hear about me, someone will know about you. You’ve damned yourselves.”
Stretch glanced over his shoulder as if his past had caught up with him as well. He grabbed Stout by the collar and yanked him into the shadows from which they’d come.
Birdie released her hold on Jack and set off swiftly down the street. He caught up with her in a few strides, took her hand in his, and matched her pace. Her fingers clung to his, safe and content in his large but gentle grasp. But her gaze knew better.
They both kept their heads angled to see if the men followed. When she stumbled in the snow, Jack slowed down and forced her to do the same.
“Are you all right?”
“Just a little tired.” A grand understatement. C’est la vie. She gave up on looking back and faced forward. It would be a long evening. How many questions would he ask about the miners and her past during their meal at the diner?
“Will you find food at La Maison?”
“In their kitchen, oui.”
“Then I will take you straight there.”
Despite that being for the best, her heart plummeted with disappointment to be parted from him so soon.
He must have sensed her distress because his hand squeezed hers reassuringly. “Don’t worry. You’ll be safe in a house full of people under Mrs. Walters’ spirited defense. But you must keep up your strength. You require food as much as rest.”
She doubted if she’d sleep at all tonight. She must rise earlier than ever tomorrow. As soon as Mr. Fulton’s store opened, she must claim her snowshoes. She’d traded the curtains for them, and she needed them more than ever now. The snow would be deep where she’d be going.
Non, mais quel désastre! She’d been an imbécile to hope she could stop running. Tomorrow she’d not only have to abandon her fabrics and dresses, but this man who’d defended her as strongly as he’d treated her kindly. He deserved better than her.
She would not let her past touch him.
CHAPTER 10
The 3rd day of Christmas
December 27, 1876
“Yer courting ain’t progressing fast enough.” Gus rubbed his arms and stomped his feet to shake off the chill.
Jack kept scanning the street. “She’s only been in Noelle two days and three nights.” And already I can’t imagine my life without her.
“Stop pussyfooting around ’n ask her for what you want.”
“A lifetime together.” Jack’s gaze shot to La Maison directly across the road from where they stood. He contemplated the upstairs windows trying to imagine which one Birdie slept behind. His heart thudded in anticipation of even a glimpse of her.
“How about,” Gus muttered, “starting that life by asking her to move out of that cathouse ’n in with us? Then we won’t have to stand out here in the cold again.”
“We’ve only been here a few minutes. And I said you should go inside and wait in the parlor.” He wasn’t through scanning the street.
“She can stay in Max’s room.”
“I don’t think that will satisfy anyone.” The matchmaker, the railroad, and the town wanted marriages. He wanted only Birdie—as close to him as possible. He still wasn’t sure what Birdie wanted.
“To heck with satisfaction.” Gus thrust his walking stick in the air like a knight raising his sword. “Birdie’s safety comes first. Those miners won’t have gone far. Their sort delights in being a thorn in yer side.”
So Gus remembered what Jack had told him last night. Lately, he was never certain. This was the first time this morning that either of them had mentioned the two men.
After he’d seen Birdie safely back to La Maison, he’d gone in search of them. He’d wanted only to spend more time with Birdie, to keep her close and protect her. But common sense told him he needed to find the miners fast and without Birdie by his side.
He’d visited Draven, scanned his wanted posters, and urged him to make finding the men his top priority. He’d searched the Golden Nugget, the street and alleys, and every business that had been opened. He’d even gone to Hardt’s mine and Woody’s barn.
He’d questioned everyone he’d found and asked them to come to him immediately if they saw the men or heard anything about them. The few who’d said they sounded familiar had thought they’d left Noelle days ago. He wished that were the case.
He’d collected Gus, taken him home, and opened the trunk with his old rifle from the war. He’d snatched up the firearm but his hand had balked over his father’s matching weapon.
Gus had grabbed the gun and made him sit in a chair by the stove. “How many times do I have to tell you—yer not responsible for yer father’s death.”
“I should’ve saved him.”
“No one tried harder than you to do that.”
“How do you know? You were carrying men off the battlefield when the mules bolted.”
“I know you. I also know a wagon tipping over is an accident that can’t be changed.”
Gus had claimed the other chair and they’d commenced cleaning the firearms. As they sat together, he’d told his grandfather everything he’d learned about the miners. Then they’d gone up to their rooms.
Gus probably hadn’t slept any more than he had. They’d met downstairs at the same ridiculously early hour. They’d walked outside and down the street, peering in windows and alleys, until they reached La Maison.
He’d left the loaded rifles under the counter. He didn’t want the miners to discover they’d been mistaken on one point. Surprise was a weapon in itself.
Would Birdie be surprised when she saw him waiting for her? He needed to proceed carefully. He had to get today right. “When you asked Gran to marry you, what did you say?”
A frown puckered Gus’ brow. “I don’t rightly recall.”
“Figures.”
“She might have asked me.”
“Lucky man.”
“Very.” Gus grinned. “I do remember saying that I loved her.”
Jack hunched his shoulders against a sudden chill from the past. “Saying that to Lorena didn’t help.”
Gus shook his walking stick at him. “Birdie ain’t Lorena.”
“No, she most certainly is not.” Only two days—and no nights—together and his feelings for Birdie were stronger than anything during his years with and without Lorena. “I vow that before this day is over, I’m going to ask her to marry me.”
“Lord love a duck.” Gus straightened like a hound on point. “Here she comes.”
Birdie stepped out of the La Maison. When her gaze found him, she froze with a wide-eyed look—like she might run. Away from him or toward him? He couldn’t guess which.
Gus thumped him on the back and knocked him out of his stupor. “Wake up, Sunny Boy. You’ve got work to do.”
CHAPTER 11
Doux Jésus, why were Jack and Gus waiting outside La Maison? Except for the owner of the dry goods store, she’d hoped absolutely no one else would be up at this early an hour.
The Calling Birds_The Fourth Day Page 7
