Tossing his hat aside, Morgan slapped his hands on the half-door again. Retta watched in horrified fascination as his fingers felt along the lock rail, this time finding the latch on the inside. Her side. He played with the barrel bolt, and her eyes widened as she realized he could easily slide the catch. Leap over the open jamb.
Or simply kick it in.
“So, pretty Retta,” he purred, “Will you invite me in? Or shall I just . . . help myself?”
~ ~ ~
“Almost home, Addie.” Frank ruffled the tiny girl’s curly locks. She sat on his lap, clutching her pup to her thin chest.
The little beagle dozed for most of the trip back, and Addie’s eyes drooped as well. Frank had ended up holding them both and hadn’t complained once.
Harrison flicked the brim of his brother’s Stetson. “You going to tell me what that little scene was all about with Cat Purdue?”
“Nothing to say, really. Things just didn’t work out.”
“Did you want them to work out?” He’d never known his brother to get attached to a woman, not even a speck.
“Doesn’t matter now.”
Ready to pursue the line of questioning further, Harrison guided Copper to the entry gate, then frowned to see it ajar. “I know we latched it.” He brought the wagon to a stop. “Whoa, boy,” he admonished the horse, then set the brake and jumped down. He’d taken two steps before he spotted the prints in the dirt. Four horseshoes, no wagon trail behind. “Damn, somebody else rode through. Single horse.” He climbed back into the wagon and grabbed the reins. “Hold tight.” He snapped the reins hard and urged Copper into a fast canter, the wagon rumbling and jerking as the wheels hit clumps of hardpacked dirt and rocks.
Frank braced himself on the seat and cradled Addie and the pup as they thundered over the trail toward the ranch. He squinted into the dusty air. “Son of a bitch, I know that goddamn horse.”
As they got closer, Harrison growled, “Morgan.” He plied the reins, and Copper shot forward. As the ranch house loomed, he shouted, “Take it over, straight to the barn.”
Slowing Copper barely enough for safety, Harrison jumped, landing in a tumbling roll to protect his head and eyes from the rough ground-scrub. He gained his feet and pulled his pistol as he ran toward the side yard, banking on taking Morgan by surprise before he could get to his horse, tied to the hitching post near the house.
Harrison sidled to the front of the wraparound porch, spotting Morgan’s fancy boots with their brass-tipped spurs. A woman’s low murmur confirmed his worst fear: Retta, facing the bastard down, possibly already in his filthy clutches. Snarling low in his throat, Harrison leapt over the side railing, pistol cocked—
Only to come to an abrupt stop and stare, gape-mouthed, at the sight of his dainty wife calmly pointing the cocked barrel of his Winchester repeater dead center on Slim Morgan’s pale, high forehead. Harrison gave her a fast, encompassing glance to assure she was unharmed, before bringing his Colt level to Morgan’s chest. A grim smile etched his mouth at the sweat rolling down the worthless cur’s face.
Other than loose, silky tendrils escaping from her upswept hair and a smear of honey on her chin, Retta seemed remarkably composed.
“Retta,” Harrison began, “you can put the rifle aside now.”
“I’m all right, Harrison.” She blew a tangled curl out of her eyes. “Mister Morgan would like to talk to you. He also tried to enter the house without my permission.” Lowering the rifle, she un-cocked the barrel and set it aside. “I was very glad to see such a fine weapon hanging by the door.” Her fingers shook when she smoothed them over her hair and inhaled deeply.
Brave girl. Smart, too, because only a stupid person didn’t recognize danger when it stared them down.
“Go to the barn, Retta.” Harrison never took his eyes off Morgan, his hand steady on the trigger. “Now.”
“Where’s Addie?”
“In the barn with Frank, waiting for you.” Remembering how his wife’s hand had trembled, he took a threatening stride forward. “Move away from the door, Morgan, and let the lady pass.”
Morgan held his hands up in a surrender gesture, but the sneer on his face indicated otherwise, as he edged back.
Closing in, Harrison kept his gun pointed at the man, forcing him off the porch, then held his free hand out for his bride. “I’ll be along soon. But first, Morgan and I have a few things to discuss.”
Eyes as wide as a startled doe, she placed her hand trustingly in his. Harrison took a moment to enjoy the feel of her skin against his, before guiding her through the archway. “Stay inside until I come for you.”
She nodded, ignoring Morgan completely, and with a dignified swish of her skirts she walked briskly toward the barn.
~ ~ ~
Harrison waited until Retta was safely ensconced in the barn, before gritting out between clenched teeth, “Tell me why I shouldn’t fill you full of lead.” He wanted to take the shot, but he wasn’t a murderer.
Hands still held high, Morgan grinned, looking every bit a dandy in his expensive three-piece suit and high-dollar boots. But Harrison knew better. The man was as dangerous as a rattler. “Now, Carter,” he said mockingly, “there’s no need for that. I’m here on business, nothing more. I’m sorry if your wife got the wrong impression.”
“Is that so?” Harrison wasn’t buying it. He’d seen the lust in the man’s eyes at the mercantile when Morgan looked at Retta.
“I’d like to make an offer on one of your mines. A very generous offer.”
“The mines aren’t for sale.” Harrison lowered the weapon slightly, aiming at the man’s privates, and cocked the trigger. “Stay away from what’s mine.”
Morgan’s smile turned mean. “My men know I’m here, and if anything happens to me they’ll avenge my death. It’d be a shame if something happened to that lovely wife of yours or her daughter.”
Fury pounded through Harrison. This bastard just threatened his family. His finger twitched on the trigger, as he contemplated ending it right here. The only thing that stopped him was the sound of his brother’s voice.
“Harrison,” Frank said calmly, coming up to stand next to him, a rifle cradled casually in one arm. But Harrison wasn’t fooled for an instant. Frank’s posture indicated he was ready to take Morgan on if necessary. “Why don’t you two put down the weapons and work it out?”
Hell, yes. He might not be able to shoot Morgan in cold blood, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t mess the dandy up a bit. A grin spread across Harrison’s face as he slowly lowered his gun, handing it off to Frank. Morgan lifted a highly-polished Smith & Wesson from its holster and placed it on the square table positioned against the outside wall.
“I’d sure like you to reconsider,” Morgan said. “At least listen to my offer.”
Harrison met the man’s calculating stare. “Not interested.”
With a smirk, Morgan casually stepped off the front porch and closed the short distance between them. Balling his hands into fists, he lifted them up in a fighter’s stance. “I’ll try not to damage you too much, since you have a new woman to satisfy.”
The slur cranked up his anger, but Harrison maintained his control. Morgan was baiting him so he could get the upper hand. Not goddamned likely. With a flick of two fingers, he beckoned at the bastard. “Make it good, Morgan, because one punch is all you’re gonna get.”
“Cocky son of a bitch,” Morgan ground out, before he swung in a wide arc and connected with Harrison’s lower jaw, knocking him back. When Harrison only shook his head, pinning Morgan with a threatening stare and a grim smile, the idiot’s bravado deserted him damned fast.
Morgan took another swing, but Harrison blocked it. Five seconds later, with a shot to the gut, and two quick punches to the face, Morgan lay flat on his back in the dirt, semi-cons
cious.
“Well, that was too easy.” Frank sighed. “I was hoping for more entertainment. Want me to dump a bucket of water on him so we can try again?” His brother’s tone held a hopeful note.
Harrison snorted, leaning down to toss Morgan’s sorry ass over his shoulder. “That won’t be necessary.” He carried the skunk to his horse and threw him roughly across the saddle as Morgan began to rouse.
Frank walked up next to him with Morgan’s gun, emptying the bullets onto the ground, before shoving it in the saddlebag.
“I find you at my ranch again, Morgan, I won’t go so easy on you.” Harrison slapped the appaloosa on the rump and sent him charging along the gate trail.
Cursing loudly, Morgan clung to the saddle. “This won’t be the end of it, Carter,” he hollered.
“I know.” He strode into the barn where Retta and Addie were kneeling on the dirt floor, playing with the puppy.
Retta lifted a worried gaze to him. “Harrison,” she breathed, relief flooding her voice. She stood and crossed to him, curling her arms around his waist and laying her head on his chest.
He skimmed a hand along her back. “Everything’s fine.” Glancing over the top of her head at his daughter, he asked, “Do we have a name for your puppy yet, Addie girl?”
Addie smiled, nodding vigorously. “Noodle.”
Behind him, Frank laughed. Harrison grinned. “Noodle, huh? That’s a . . . different kind of name. Why don’t we introduce him to his new home?”
Addie scooped up her dog and ran outside, followed closely by Frank. With one arm securely around Retta’s slim waist, Harrison led her toward the open barn doors.
She lifted her sweet face up to him as they strolled toward the ranch. “What happened to Morgan? What did he really want?”
“It’s all taken care of. Don’t worry, he won’t be bothering you again.”
Her fingers slid along his jaw, where he’d been hit. “You fought him?”
“It was nothing.” Harrison glanced in the direction where Morgan had ridden off. They hadn’t seen the last of the man.
Chapter 9
Harrison tossed the reins aside and jumped from the wagon seat, holding up his arms for Retta. “You sure you want to go in?” he asked—for at least the tenth time—as he swung her to the ground, supporting her elbow until her feet were steady.
“I’m already here. Sure, I want to go in.”
On the other side of the wagon, Nell Washburn waited for Addie. Married to one of Harrison’s apprentices, Nell had volunteered to keep an eye on Addie while Harrison showed Retta the mine operation.
Pushing her bright-red hair from her eyes, Nell brought Addie around to the back of the wagon. “See, all safe and sound, Mister Carter. Me an’ the boys will take good care of her for you.” She gave the excited Addie a wink. “And we got kittens—”
“Kittens,” Addie shouted, jumping up and down, her curls bouncing madly.
With a groan, Retta protested, “Not a kitten. Oh, Lord. She loves them even more than p-u-p-p-i-e-s,” she spelled in a low hiss.
“Er, sorry.” Nell clapped a hand over her mouth. “Guess I should keep me lips buttoned.” She herded Addie toward the narrow path leading to the miners’ cabins, her guidance gentle but firm. “Cookies first, all right, young Miss Adeline?”
As Addie nodded eagerly and scampered along beside Nell, Retta tamped down her worry. Miners’ wives and children were everywhere, all friendly and good-natured. Addie would be perfectly safe for a few hours.
She sucked in a deep breath, the air tinged with the raw ore the miners were carting out, and nodded to Harrison. “I’m ready.”
Harrison eyed her up and down. Today she wore a black split skirt and a dainty yellow blouse with a pin-tucked bodice. “Did you bring an apron? Or a duster? You’re going to get dirty in there.”
“Um—”
“Never mind. Here, put this on.” He whipped off his duster and draped it around her shoulders. “It’ll keep you cozy if we descend.”
Retta clutched the garment close. It smelled of musk and warm man, a delicious combination. “What about you? Won’t you get cold?” He had rolled up the sleeves of his faded chambray work shirt.
“Not likely.” He caught her hand. “Ready to see the mine?”
“Oh, yes.”
“All right, then, but you have to be cautious as you proceed. Don’t want you touching anything that might scrape up your pretty hands.” He brought her fingers to his lips. The kiss he pressed on each set her heart pounding as emotion melted her from the inside.
Some of what she felt must have shown on her face, because his eyes went dark. “Careful,” Harrison admonished against her fingers, “or I might shock half my crew by kissing you right here.” He stroked his tongue over the delicate skin between her thumb and index finger.
A tiny moan escaped her lips at the exquisite caress.
Behind her, a masculine snort brought her to awareness. Retta tugged her hand from her husband’s too-tempting mouth, and pivoted around. Heat bloomed in her cheeks at the sight of Frank leaning against the front wagon wheel, arms crossed over his chest.
“How-do, Missus Carter.” He tipped his well-worn Stetson. “Can’t find anyone more respectable to escort you around?” Mischief danced in his dark eyes as he nodded toward Harrison, then dropped his voice to a low drawl. “I’ve got it on good authority he lets puppies lick his teeth.”
“Bad timing, fool,” Harrison muttered softly.
Gathering her composure, Retta smiled, brushing a stray wisp of hair out of her eye. Harrison’s brother could be so surly one minute, and ridiculous the next. “Are you going in with us?”
Frank straightened and swept off his hat, knocking it against his leg to shake off the dust, before he dropped it back on his head and adjusted the rim. “No, ma’am. Stayin’ out here where it’s breezy.” He winked. “Maybe I’ll head on over to the Washburn place and grab me a kitty.” He grinned at Retta’s squeak of alarm. “You know, to keep that ferocious dog of yours in line.”
“Oh, Frank, that’s not a good idea.” Visions of dogs giving chase to spitting cats swirled in her brain. She thought of the mess they’d create inside her tidy ranch house, pictured claws shredding the furniture, and shuddered.
“Stop teasing her.” Harrison settled one brawny arm around her shoulders. “How’s about instead you hunt up Ben and Dub. Maybe take a walk around.”
“Sure thing, old son.” Frank shot off a cocky salute. “Careful, y’hear? That south shaft needs reinforcement.” With a nod toward Retta, he strode off.
Retta tugged against Harrison’s encompassing arm. “Is it really safe down there?”
“I wouldn’t let you anywhere near the inside if it weren’t.” He guided her toward the entrance, handing her a bandana from his back pocket. “Tie this over your nose and mouth.” Waiting until she obeyed, Harrison eased through the reinforced bracket, wide enough for two men. “Watch your step.” He held his hand out to help her inside. “This is the main floor. North shaft goes down four levels. Might have to eventually go deeper.”
Though she wanted to look ahead, down the long, dimly-lit shaft opening, Retta kept her eyes on her boots, feeling the suction of mud-coated boards and ground cover. Even this close to the entrance, the air already stifled her breaths. She couldn’t imagine working any deeper and having to inhale the dust and specks of ore, the way these poor men had to endure. Harrison guided her further into the mine.
Along one rough-hewn wall, a sconce had been hung on a jutting rock. Harrison paused to light the thick candle, replacing the soot-streaked glass. He pointed to a piece of paper nailed to a makeshift frame. “Frank drew this up last year, when we completed the third level. Good enough to see what’s below where we’re standing.”
Re
tta traced her finger over the box-like shapes. “Men stand in these?”
“Yep. Two men to a timber-set. One digs and the other collects the ore. When they have enough to fill a pallet, they bring it out.” He indicated a pulley system constructed of ropes and wheels. “Most of our men can block out substantial chunks at once. Cart tracks only descend two levels from the surface, where the shaft is wide enough to handle a mule. Stack the pallet, pull it up, fill the cart, and the mule brings it out. Takes two men guiding the cart and the mule to make it out safely.” The smile he gave her shone in the dimly lit shaft.
Suppressing a shiver, Retta tried to imagine what a fourteen-hour day must be like, and what kind of toll it had to take on a miner’s body. These men worked from sunup to sundown and sometimes beyond, that much she already knew just by the little Harrison had told her. Now that she’d seen the bare bones of the operation for herself, her respect for silver miners grew even more. And this is one of the bigger and better operations, Lord help them all.
Feeling a bit claustrophobic, she allowed a little space under the bandana, loosening the knot in order to catch some fresh air. She started to speak, wanting to compliment Harrison on his dedication to his workers, and instead coughed and choked as she took in a stale breath.
Harrison frowned, then guided her from the narrower shaft into the wider opening leading to fresher, outside air. “Damn it, I shouldn’t have brought you so far in.” He curled an arm around her waist and almost carried her out.
Past the entrance, now standing on dry ground, he rubbed her back as she expelled the last of the dust she’d inhaled. Retta laid a hand on his chest to support herself, and straightened. “I’m all right, Harrison. Truly. I— It was my fault. I should have knotted the cloth better.”
He cupped her cheek, watching her with concern filled eyes. “No. The fault lies with me. That’s the last time you go anywhere near—”
The Substitute Wife Page 8
