Emmy (Gold Rush Brides Book 2)

by Cassie Hayes

  Emmy thought of her miserable attempt at cooking that morning and wondered if she would ever learn. “She couldn’t have been worse than me,” she pouted.

  “Maybe not, but she came right close,” he teased. Mason’s laugh was hearty, and not at all mean. She couldn’t help returning his grin. “But you’ll get better, Miss Emmy. You’ve come a long way in a pretty short time.”

  She rolled her eyes at his generosity. “Oh yes. I’ve come so far. I went from being a beautiful bride to an ugly, smelly, blotchy, grease-covered man!”

  He grew serious and she felt her skin heating from his intense look. “It’s too bad you don’t see what I see.”

  With that, he clucked at his horse and trotted up to the front of the posse, leaving her to wonder exactly what it was that he saw.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  As he moved up even with Fred and David, Mason wondered what the heck he was thinking by telling Emmy all of that. The whole conversation had started by him wanting to be friendly and mend fences a little, give her some encouragement, that sort of thing. But it changed into something altogether too personal for his liking. The last person he’d been that open with was Marie.

  It seemed strange talking about his dead wife with Emmy, but also natural. It was so easy, all the words just tumbled right out. Maybe it was so easy to talk with her because she had so many things in common with Marie. Whatever the reason, it needed to stop. No good could come of it.

  “You have a nice visit back there, Mace?” Fred asked, amusement glittering in his eyes. “Sure did take your time about it.”

  Mason glared at him and David, the latter taking the hint and dropping back to ride with Jake. But Fred had known Mason since he arrived in Nevada City and wasn’t about to let go of this bone.

  “Hard to hide the purty in that little gal, ain’t it, Mace?”

  “Fred…”

  “All the bear fat and straw hats in the world ain’t enough to make her ugly as a bucket of mud.”

  “Fred…”

  “And nothing could dim that sparkle in her big ol’ blue eyes when she gazes up at the big strong sheriff of Nevada County.”

  “Deputy Merchant, enough!” Mason lost his patience with the man’s teasing, and as much as he cared about Fred, he wasn’t about to let him think he was keen on Emmy. It wouldn’t do for that kind of talk to get started. Not only could it damage her reputation, it was never going to happen. Still and all, he regretted making his favorite deputy — probably his best friend, if he was being honest — wince like that.

  “Sorry, Sheriff,” he mumbled.

  “Aw, hang it all, Fred,” Mason murmured to him so no one else would hear. “I’m not mad at ya. But you can’t be shouting such nonsense, understand? It’s already unseemly enough for an unmarried lady to be riding with four men, but to make believe something else is going on would only cause Miss Emmy more problems. She’s already worried enough about her reputation, the last thing she needs is for Jake or David to start spreading rumors.”

  “Oh, they’d never—“

  “They’re good lads, to be sure, but people talk. You know that better’n anyone.”

  “I’m sorry, Mace. Won’t happen again.” He paused for a moment and glanced up at his friend slyly. “But you can’t deny something’s there. I see the way she’s been lookin’ atchya.”

  Mason shook his head, denying any such thing, but deep down he wondered if Fred was right. She’d stopped sassing him, and had been downright kind a number of times. His belly did a flip at the mere thought of her being sweet on him.

  Then the vision of Marie lying dead in his arms filled his mind. She’d gone to San Francisco hoping her condition would soften her family’s attitude toward her, and it had worked. She stayed a few weeks longer than planned to catch up on all the news and let her parents coddle her a bit, but she wanted to head back to Nevada City before she got so big the trip would be uncomfortable or dangerous.

  The irony of that still tore at Mason. If she’d stayed one day longer, she’d be with him now, preparing to celebrate their child’s one-year birthday. Instead, he was on the hunt for her killer. He’d failed her that day, and every day since, by not finding her murderer and he couldn’t allow himself to think of anything else but tracking down Roy Kirby.

  “Fred,” he said tightly.

  “Yeah, Mace?”

  “Think these horses have cooled down enough?”

  “I’d say so.”

  “Then let’s go catch us some bad guys.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Mason casually tied up his horse to the hitching post outside Placer County’s Sheriff’s Office on Court Street in Auburn. The structure was a flimsy structure of canvas and wood, and looked like a stiff breeze could blow it down in a trice. At half the size of Nevada City, Auburn was comparatively peaceful — the last hanging being in December — so it didn’t need much in the way of an office.

  Placer County was only a month older than Nevada County, and Mason didn’t want to get the new sheriff’s hackles up by riding in with a posse and demanding the head of Roy Kirby. There was a time to flex your muscles and a time to extend your hand, so he’d left his men at the edge of town, with instructions to give him a ten-minute lead before going to the Union Saloon to wait for him. Word spread like wildfire in towns like this, and he didn’t want Sheriff Watson getting wind of their arrival before he had a chance to talk with him.

  Mason stepped onto the rickety boardwalk in front of the office, slapping the road dust from his coat as he went. Whisking his hat from his head, he cracked open the door and stepped inside the tiny space. At the back of the room, a small table barely bigger than the man who sat behind it bowed under the weight of the man’s feet.

  He was asleep.

  What kind of sheriff sleeps at his post? Mason very nearly slammed the door shut to wake the fool, but decided that discretion was the better part of valor and stepped back outside, quietly closing the door. If he embarrassed Watkins so early on, he might be less than willing to help another sheriff who was out of his jurisdiction.

  Rolling his eyes at having to play act for the man, Mason stomped on the boardwalk loudly and rapped on the door several times. He heard a grunt and feet slapping to the floor inside, and took a deep breath before slowly opening the door again. Sheriff Watson was sitting upright and dazed but with his dignity intact…as far as he knew.

  “Tom!” Mason said with a grin, extending his hand to the man. “Mason Wilder from Nevada County. I’ve been wanting to make it down here to meet you for some time now, but what with the all the goings on up my way, I’ve had my hands full. Suppose it’s been the same for you.”

  Watkins pressed his full weight on the small table to get himself in a standing position, and the flimsy thing groaned in protest. How did the old man perform his duties being so portly? From the gossip Mason had heard, he didn’t do them well at all.

  “Nice to meet you, Mason,” Watson said, shaking his hand and pointing at a chair. “Have a seat.”

  Once settled in their chairs, the men simply looked at each other, waiting for the other to speak first. Mason knew how to play the game and simply smiled at the older man. Watson must have still been in that vulnerable barely-awake state because it didn’t take long for him to pipe up.

  “How’re things up in Nevada City, then?”

  Just the opening Mason was hoping for. “Oh, they’re ‘bout what you’d expect. Town’s booming, growing every day, which keeps me busy. But you know all about that, don’t ya?”

  Watson beamed and leaned back, haughty and cocksure. “I sure do! We may not be as big as you yet but we’re gaining on ya. Seems these Johnny Newcomes will never stop running to the diggins!”

  Mason chuckled. “Oh, they’ll stop all right, soon as the easy pickings run out. Or when the big boys with money dig their claws in and take over.”

  “Nah, that’ll never happen. At least not for a good long run. Till then, all the likes of you and me
gotta do is keep good folks happy and we’re set for life.”

  Mason nodded as if he agreed wholeheartedly with Watson’s limited and self-serving point of view. “Yeah, but sometimes it ain’t that easy. Take me, for example. I got a madman on the loose up north and I can’t find hide nor hair of him. I’m stumped.”

  “Huh. No kidding. That’s a blasted shame, Mason. If you need any help, I’d be happy to lend you the benefit of my wisdom.”

  Mason doubted the man had a wise bone in his lazy body, but put on an eager face anyway. “That would be right kind of ya, Tom. I could use all the help I can get on this one.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Watson said, waving his hand dismissively. “Who you after?”

  “A low-down murdering highwayman who goes by the name of Roy Kirby.”

  Watson looked thoughtful for a moment, tapping a finger against his chin. “Kirby, you say? Hmmm, never heard of him. But I’ll tell ya what I’ll do for ya, Mason. I’ll make some inquiries and let you know if I hear anything. How would that do ya?”

  Mason stood and shook Watson’s hand again. “That would be fine, Tom. Thank ya kindly. I’ll be over at Union Saloon waiting on your word.”

  He turned to walk out of the office while Watson blustered in surprise. “Wait! You expect me to ask around now?”

  Mason looked over his shoulder as he opened the door, fitting his hat on his head. “No time like the present, Tom. ‘Sides, you wouldn’t want people to think you was asleep on the job, would ya?”

  With a wink, he swept out, leaving the fat man to gape after him.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  It took a bit of coaxing to get Emmy to enter the saloon, but the deputies’ assurances that no one would suspect her of being anything but a young man finally swayed her. She’d always secretly been curious about what the inside of a saloon looked like, but growing up as a lady back east, it would have been impossible for her to enter such an establishment and maintain her good name.

  Now that she was so thoroughly disguised, she felt a freedom she’d never before experienced. As a man, she could go places and see things she’d otherwise miss. It was exhilarating and a bit overwhelming at the same time.

  Fred led the way into the saloon, making sure there was nothing a lady like her shouldn’t be exposed to, then motioned the rest of them in. She had strict instructions to not speak, since her feminine voice would be a dead giveaway, so she focused on keeping her mouth closed tight and her eyes open wide.

  They took a table against a wall and motioned the barkeep over. Emmy settled herself primly in her seat but Jake nudged her with an elbow and slouched in an exaggerated way. Oh! She was sitting like a lady. Imitating him as much as possible, she hunched her shoulders and put her elbows on the table. Her father would have slapped her hands for that!

  “What’ll it be, boys?” the barkeep asked.

  “Five shots of whiskey,” Fred ordered. “And none of that rotgut I know you got back there, y’hear?” He flashed his badge at the barkeep who nodded and scurried behind the counter to pour the drinks.

  While they waited, Emmy took in her surroundings. There were quite a few men in the place, though it was far from full. Four men straddled dirty wooden stools at the bar, while another four were crowded around a table playing some kind of card game. Faro, she guessed. Several other tables had one or two men sharing drinks and laughs.

  She was surprised to see a couple of women in the saloon. She’d honestly assumed that ladies weren’t even allowed to enter, but these women were clearly welcome. A particularly fancy one tilted her head back to drink a shot of some kind of alcohol, drawing hoots from the men at her table. The biggest man in the group pulled the giggling girl onto his lap, and that was when Emmy understood what was happening. Not for the first time, she was relieved she had the black grease on her face to hide her blush.

  The barkeep returned with the whiskey, giving her a pointed look. Emmy’s stomach knotted up in worry that he would discover her secret.

  “What’s the story with him,” he asked Fred. “We don’t want no one getting sick, if whatever he’s got’s catchin’.”

  Fred waved the man off. “Just a bad case of poison oak, is all. Nothing to fret about, friend.”

  The man shot her one last look before hurrying back to the bar. It was late in the day, and men were streaming in. He was too busy to worry about her anymore.

  The deputies picked up their drinks and waited for her to do the same. She’d drunk wine before, and once had Champagne at a party, but she’d never had hard liquor. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.

  Once she’d picked up the tiny glass, Fred gave her a nod and a wink. “Down the hatch!” In one swift motion, he tipped his head back and poured the contents of the glass down his throat, like the fancy lady had done. Jake and David followed suit, and then it was her turn.

  The three men grinned at her as they waited, knowing she had no choice but to follow through. The fumes from the liquor were burning her eyes already and it was still several inches away. What would it feel like going down? There was only one way to find out.

  Closing her eyes and holding her breath, she put the glass to her lips and swallowed its contents. Fire consumed her mouth and throat, and burned down to her stomach. She’d never tasted anything as horrible in her entire life! Her eyes fairly bulged out of her head as she coughed furiously, trying to get a breath of air to quench the flames.

  Fred was patting her back while Jake and David laughed uproariously. When she finally got her breath back, she glared at each one in turn, but that didn’t seem to dampen their amusement.

  “That wasn’t at all funny,” she whispered, remembering to keep her voice low. Even that made her raw throat ache.

  Tears streamed down Jake’s face and he could barely catch his breath to speak. “It was where I’m sitting!”

  Their joy at her pain was annoying at first, but then the burning eased and diffuse warmth spread through her body. They weren’t being mean-spirited, she realized, simply having a little fun. Benjamin Franklin’s words of wisdom on the matter popped into her head unbidden: “If you would not be laughed at, be the first to laugh at yourself.” She tried to hide the snicker, but soon she was guffawing with the rest of them.

  The whiskey had a calming effect on her jittery nerves, and she soon relaxed into her chair. She was quite at ease with watching the goings-on and listening to the deputies rib each other while they waited for Mason to arrive.

  “Fred, you know I done broke broncs with some vaqueros back a spell?” asked Jake.

  “Oh yeah?”

  David chuffed at the claim. “What a bunch o’ bunk. Polishing yer pants on saddle leather don’t make you a cowboy, y’know.”

  Jake glared at him. “Did you know that a closed mouth gathers no boots?”

  “I’d like to see you try!”

  Emmy’s thoughts drifted toward the sheriff. He was a big strapping man who was undeniably handsome. And when he wasn’t being obstinate, he could be quite charming.

  Her skin warmed quickly remembering his final words to her earlier in the day. “Too bad you don’t see what I see,” he’d said before riding away. She’d longed to ask him what he meant, what exactly he saw in her, but he’d led them on a long, hard ride until they reached Auburn so she didn’t have the opportunity. It didn’t really matter anyway because, as brave as he might think she was, she knew she didn’t have the courage to ask.

  It was more than a little bizarre to her that it had only been a few days since Roy and his group of thieves had stopped her coach, nearly scaring her to death. She still chided herself for being so impetuous as to marry the man with barely a ‘Howdy do’ between them, but her options had been thin. As horrible as things had turned out so far, she preferred them to what her life would have been back in New York if she hadn’t left. Besides, who knew what might happen next?

  She was staring absently at her empty shot glass, slicking her finger around the rim, whe
n Jake interrupted her thoughts.

  “What’s that sly smile for, Miss— erm, Mister.”

  Startled, she looked up and realized she was indeed smiling, and she couldn’t quite put her finger on why. Just then, the door to the saloon opened and Mason’s familiar shape filled the entrance. Her heart leapt in her chest and her vague feelings of happiness sharpened to a point. He was the reason she was smiling.

  Where had that come from? He was overbearing and rude, and he didn’t care one lick for her. Except maybe he did, and that got her heart thrumming again. Was it possible his disdain for her had changed? Her feelings for him had certainly shifted some after hearing about his past troubles. A man like that deserved some patience and respect.

  That must be it, she decided. When they first met, she didn’t respect him, but now she did. He was determined to find Roy and bring him to justice, but he was also fair-minded and practical. She’d seen him joking around with his deputies, laughing easily, and they obviously held him in high regard. And the simple fact that he allowed her to tag along, rather than casting her out on her own, proved he was an honorable man.

  Her life had been short on those of late, which confirmed her suspicion. She respected Mason Wilder, nothing more. Yes, that was it. She was sure of it.

  Until he touched her.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Mason strolled over to his crew, patting Jake and Emmy on the back as he passed. It was funny, but he didn’t pay any attention to what Jake’s back felt like but he was acutely aware of how painfully bony Emmy’s shoulders were. His hand rested there a moment longer than it perhaps should have before he settled in his seat.

  He needed to wash the stink of Sheriff Watson’s slothfulness off him but the best he could do was throw back the shot of whiskey Fred had kindly ordered for him. It went down like a stick of dynamite but it would soon soothe his frayed nerves.

  When he set the glass back on the table, he spied the empty one in front of Emmy and raised an eyebrow at her. It would be hard enough for a woman like her to go into a saloon — dressed as a man, no less — but to throw back with the boys was unthinkable. She really was a tough little nut.