Leaving, she headed for Mortimer's office and found it empty but unlocked. She went in and left the candy on the desk. After debating about leaving a note, she decided returning his gift should be enough to get her message across. She could not be bought.
A woman Garrick recognized as the marshal's wife glanced up from a half-cleaned rifle when he entered the marshal's office. She frowned, tilting her head from side to side as if trying to see him better. He realized suddenly that, with the sun behind him, she saw only a black silhouette in the doorway. At once, he moved inside out of the light.
"Morning," she said, setting a cleaning rag aside. "You're the fellow who helped Cady Biggler get away from those hardcases outside the Last Chance Saloon about a week ago. I like finding there are still some gentlemen left in the world. Can I help you with something?"
"I hope so. Name's Brant. Garrick Brant. I'm looking for my sister. Slave traders stole her three years ago." He showed her a photograph. "She's sixteen now, and her name is July Brant. Whenever I go to a new town, I like to check in with the marshal in case he—or she—has seen her or knows something useful."
"Glad to meet you, Mr. Brant." The deputy offered her hand and they shook. "And I'll do my best to be of help."
Finding a female deputy had surprised Garrick when he first met her, but after thinking about it, he could see the sense in it. The town housed fewer men than women, and this deputy was the marshal's wife. She appeared competent enough the way she'd handled the men who'd roughed up Cady, and she knew how to clean a rifle. He supposed it must be nice to have your wife working with you, so long as it was what the woman wanted to do. This one looked like she might have Indian blood, with her black hair and darker skin tone.
"When did this happen?" she asked. "Do you have any idea where they took her?"
"We lived in Nebraska Territory. They traded her to a bordello in New Mexico where she was sold to someone else. I wasn't able to find out whom."
"That's too bad." The deputy looked at the picture. "She's a lovely girl. You have quite a job ahead of you."
"Yes, I know. I'm a photographer." He handed her a business card. "Been traveling all over the country taking photographs for my keep and searching for July."
"We have several newly wedded couples in town. Bet they'd like their photographs taken. I assume you've been concentrating on the houses of ill repute, since that's the most likely place to find her."
"Yes." He balanced his hat on his knee and used his hand to smooth his hair. Despite his own conclusion from the beginning that July must be in a whorehouse, to hear someone else say it shook him. "I also take likenesses of families and businesses. I make small cabinet cards that businesses can pass out for advertising." He took one from his inner vest pocket and handed it to her.
"Very nice. I'm sure they go over well. We have some businesses here with new owners or managers." She handed back the photo. "The mine exploded and caved in last March, and the owner chose not to reopen it. Lost most of our men. Town's coming back though. You're sure to find plenty of business here."
"That's good to hear. First place I went was the Gentlemen Only Salon. Photographed the building, the owner and his two working girls."
The deputy crinkled her brow. "There're three girls there and the maid. You only met two?"
Fresh interest perked Garrick up. "That's right. Leda and Alma. You know the name of the third one?"
"Mae. I've never met her. She's the newest to arrive here. Don't see them much in town. Now and then they visit the mercantile or the Sugar & Spice Bakery, most often when Mortimer's out of town."
"Thanks. I'll inquire at the bakery in case they know something." He settled his hat on his head and stood up. "I appreciate your help, Deputy."
"Anytime. Have you checked the Velvet Kitten yet?"
"No, but I plan to." Garrick left and went directly to the bakery. He'd already spoken with the owner of the Crystal Café since he ate there every day.
The bakery appeared empty when he entered. He learned nothing new. Leaving, he decided to ask permission to park his rig on Front Street next to the creek.
When Mortimer returned three days later, the first thing he noticed was the chocolates he'd given Cady lying on his desk, unopened. So, she didn't want his gift, eh? Mortimer cursed. The little twit, who did she think she was? He'd find a way to bring her down off that pedestal she seemed to think she belonged on.
He thrust his head out of his office and yelled, "Lach! Send Cady in here."
She arrived a few moments later wearing her apron and dusting cap. "You wanted to speak with me?"
"Sir," he retorted. "You will address me as 'sir,' understand?"
"Yes, sir."
He picked up the box of candy. "These aren't good enough for you?"
"They are wonderful chocolates, I'm sure, sir. But it's inappropriate for you to give gifts to your maid, and I can't accept them."
He glared at her. "Damn you." He threw the box of candy into the fire on his hearth. "What will it take to please you? Are you some kind of princess that expensive imported chocolates aren't enough to please you?"
"I told you, sir, the gift was inapp—"
"If I want to give my maid a gift, I damned well will, and you'd damned well better take it."
She said nothing, merely bowed her head. Slightly mollified, Mortimer nodded. "Go finish your cleaning. I'll be leaving for Cranesville in the morning. While I'm gone, you will do some deep thinking about your ungrateful attitude and—"
"I am not ungrateful for the job you've given me or—"
"Shut up!"
She clamped her lips tight.
"When I get back, you'd better start treating me with more gratitude, young lady. Now, get out of here."
With Mortimer gone, the salon took on a more relaxed air. Even Thumbs became friendlier. Cady, Franco and Leda left to go to town, and he followed, but at a distance.
"I think I'll have the chocolate pie this time," Leda said. "Are you going to get anything, Cady?"
Cady's gaze was riveted on the photographer's wagon up Front Street. Her pulse kicked up a notch. He stood outside photographing a family.
"Oh, I see what has your attention," Leda teased.
A week had passed since that first day she'd met Garrick Brant at the café. Today, he had parked next to the creek near the emergency bell.
"You should get your image taken, Cady," Franco said. "A girl as pretty as you should be photographed.
"I'm sure it costs more than I can afford."
"Go ahead," he urged. "Use the fifty-cent piece I paid you yesterday for mending my shirts and socks. That family left, so get over there before someone beats you to it."
"I should put the money toward finding my sister."
"I forgot about that." Franco started walking again.
Before they made it past the wagon, the photographer looked up and called, "Hello. Miss Biggler, may I take your photograph? No charge."
Cady frowned. Eager as she was to see Garrick again, she didn't want to talk about it for fear her friends would see more to it than truly existed. They'd drive her crazy until she gave them every detail of the incident including her feelings about the man she wasn't ready to share. "I'm sorry. Not today, thank you."
"How does he know your name?" Franco asked.
She sighed. "I met him at the café when I went to get Mortimer's dinner a week ago. Remember the liver and onions you sent me to pick up?"
"That doesn't explain much," Leda complained. "Did he just walk up to you and ask your name?"
Her insistence on knowing everything irritated Cady. She didn't want to talk about the ruffians Garrick rescued her from. As protective as Franco was of the girls, he might try to limit her freedom in town. Worse, he might mention it to Mortimer. She didn't want to think about how that man would react.
"He's so delicious to look at, I'm going over there." Leda started across the street, prancing right up to the photographer and inadvertently savi
ng Cady from answering Franco. "You already took mine. Remember?" Leda said.
"I do." He returned his attention to Franco, Alma and Cady still on the boardwalk. "I recall you as well, sir."
"Yes. I'm Franco Bennetti. I manage the Gentlemen Only Salon." He dragged Cady across the street. "Cady wasn't allowed to pose for you, but she deserves to be photographed."
Embarrassed, she glared at him.
"I quite agree. She does deserve it." Mr. Brant waved her closer. "Come stand in front of my camera. As I said, no cost. You'd be helping me record the Wild West before it's gone."
Before she could decline, Franco took her by the elbow and posed her before the waiting camera. Behind her stood the backdrop of scenery painted on canvas. It seemed a silly thing to use since they were surrounded by a breathtaking landscape.
Had he forgotten he'd already told her of his goal to record the Wild West? It was one she didn't understand since the West still seemed quite wild to her. Hardly a week went by when someone didn't spot a cougar or bear, and Indians still wandered into town at times. And shootings between men still took place now and then.
"Move slightly to your left," Brant told her. "Can't have you in the sun."
"Like this?" she asked, standing still as a post, hands folded in front of her. He was every bit as handsome as she'd remembered. She liked the way his brown hair waved in front, dipping onto his forehead. It made her want to reach up and brush it out of the way.
"You can do better than that, Cady." Leda sashayed over in a play for the photographer's attention. "Put your hands on your hips and stand sideways a little."
"Leda," Franco interceded. "Let's go get the mail like we're supposed to be doing. We'll pick Cady up on our way back. Can't afford to take too much time."
"You go ahead. I'm so fascinated with this camera."
"How long will this take, Mr. Brant?" People had paused on the boardwalk to watch, and Cady disliked being the center of attention.
"Please, call me Garrick. Mr. Brant was my father."
"All right. You already know my name."
He stepped over to brush a tendril of loose hair behind her ear. "Relax. This won't hurt." Her skin tingled where his fingers touched it.
"Leda, come on," Franco insisted. "He doesn't need you distracting him from his work."
"Oh, very well." Her skirts rustled as she crossed the muddy road to where he waited.
With them gone, Cady found it easier to relax, despite the people on the walkway.
"Have you learned anything about where your sister is?" he asked.
"No, what about you? Your sister's name is July, isn't it?"
"Yes." He lifted what looked like a framed sheet of glass out of a case and slid it into the camera. "Would you like to talk about your sister?"
"No." She dropped her hands to her sides, then folded them at her waist again, not quite sure what to do with them. "It would only upset me. Is looking for your sister what brought you to Wildcat Ridge?"
"Yes. I'd hoped traveling around taking photographs would help."
Strange that they had such similar situations. It made her feel closer to him, and she found that she liked that. "How old is your sister?"
"Sixteen. About your age, I imagine."
"Close. I’m seventeen. My sister is five."
"So young. Hold still now. When I take this cap off the lens, the camera will record your photograph on the plate of glass I inserted into the camera."
She froze, wishing she could have checked a mirror to see how she looked. After several seconds, he replaced the cap.
"All done." He withdrew glass plate from the camera. "Will you wait while I develop this?" He gestured to his wagon.
"Of course. I'd love to see how it's done." She wasn't ready to leave yet. She needed to thank him again for helping her the last time they met. It also occurred to her that traveling the country may have given him an opportunity to see Regina. She wanted to show him the sketch and see if he knew her, though she didn't want him to think that was her only reason for letting him take her photograph.
"Certainly. Come ahead."
Like other tinker's wagons she'd seen, this one had a door in the back and the inside was set up like a tiny one-room house with storage space, a bed and a table.
She stepped inside and a striped cat, the one she'd seen before, hopped off a bed and scuttled out the door. Everything appeared well organized, not an inch of space wasted. She admired that. The head of the wagon contained slots and shelves to hold his supplies. Between them and the foot of the bed stood a table with raised sides to keep things from sliding off.
Garrick set the camera carefully on the bed, closed the door and carried the box he'd removed from it to the table. A lamp provided light. "Make yourself comfortable. I have to make up the albumen to coat the paper."
"Albumen?" She moved closer to see what he was doing.
"Yes." He held up two eggs. "Beaten egg whites, to be precise."
The door slammed open.
Mortimer's hired man, Thumbs, stood peering in. "Come out of there, Miss Biggler, and don't give me no trouble. I'm only doing my job."
Chapter Six
"What on earth?" Garrick muttered, staring at the man.
"I'm sorry. I'll take care of this." Cady exited the wagon and glared at Thumbs, her hands on her hips. "Did Mr. Crane send you to spy on me?"
"Only to make sure no one bothered you." The big lug hung his head, looking miserable. Although large and a brute, he was not unattractive.
"Well, no one's bothering me except you. Now, leave me alone." She turned back to the wagon where Garrick watched from the doorway.
"I'm not going to abuse her, if that's your concern, sir," Garrick told him. "Or Mr. Crane's. She wanted to watch me develop the photograph I took of her. I promise she won’t be harmed. You can join us inside if you like."
After studying the narrow door, Thumbs shook his head. "I'm sorry, Miss Cady, but I gotta insist you come with me."
She glanced at Garrick. Would Thumbs harm him if she didn't cooperate? She didn't want that. Blast. She wanted to show him Regina's picture.
"Surely you can let her stay a few minutes more, so she can take the photograph with her," Garrick said.
"No." Thumbs shook his head wildly. "Don't want no one angry with me. You come now, Miss Cady."
She dug in her heels. "I'm angry. Does that matter?"
"Yes, but you ain't as dangerous as Lach or Mr. Crane."
Her shoulders slumped.
"I'll bring you the photograph later," Garrick said.
"Very well." Maybe she'd get her chance to ask him about Regina then. "Let's go, Thumbs. And I shall have a word with Mr. Crane about this."
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Miss," Thumbs warned, falling in beside her as she marched up the street.
"And why not?"
"That man has a temper. I'd hate to see you get hurt." He marched along beside her like a bodyguard, making her very aware of how small she was next to him.
It infuriated her that Crane could control her life this way. "Well, he'd better not get my temper up either. I do have some rights, don't I? Am I not allowed to express myself? Or give honest responses?"
He gave her a shy grin. "I'd allow it. I reckon I'd allow you 'most anything you wanted."
She bit her lip to keep from laughing. As impossible as it seemed, he appeared in that moment like a little boy begging for a cookie. Her anger with him dissipated. "Tell me, why are you called Thumbs?"
"That's an old story, Miss. I'd as soon not get into it."
Cady had a hunch she knew. "As old as you are?"
He frowned. "I reckon so, just about. I was a little tyke when that name got stuck on me. Never been able to get rid of it." Just as she'd thought, as a child, he'd been a thumb-sucker. How cruel for his parents to allow such a moniker to be attached to him.
"Perhaps I can help. What name would you like to be called?" If she could make friends with him, it mig
ht benefit her later. Besides, she was beginning to like him.
Until now, she'd seen him only as a rather frightening hulk of a man. The past few minutes had given her a glimpse inside him. She pitied him. What sort of life had he led, being a bully for a man like Mortimer? He didn't seem to enjoy it.
"If I had my druthers, reckon it'd be Samuel Givney," he said. "That's the name in the family Bible."
"In that case, I'll call you Sam. Perhaps it will catch on."
He stopped and stared at her. "You're an awful nice lady. If I can ever do something to help you, I'll do it. You just ask me."
Here was a chance she couldn't pass up. "Perhaps there is something, Sam. Mr. Crane has boarded my little sister with a family somewhere. Do you happen to know where?"
"Oh, ma'am. I—"
"Thumbs?" Lach, Mortimer's other hired man, hurried toward them. "What'er you talkin' to her for? You're 'sposed to watch her, not make nice with her."
Sam looked relieved. "Sorry, Lach. She asked me a question and I was trying to figure out if'n I could answer or not."
What was Lach doing back so soon? He must have taken his horse with him in the stock car and ridden back. But why? Or perhaps he hadn't gone with Mortimer at all. Either way, this could spoil the whole day.
"Well, don't." Lach jabbed Thumbs in the chest. "I swear, you ain't got a lick of sense. You know damned well what will happen to you if you go against Mr. Crane's orders. If she asks you anything, you keep your yap shut. Hear me?"
"I know. You gonna guard her for a while now, Lach?"
"No, I got to run an errand for him. You take her back to the salon and keep your nose clean." After one more poke at Thumb's chest, Lach stalked off toward Chestnut Road.
Sam turned to her. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I don't reckon I ought to talk to you no more." He resumed their walk home, moving so fast she could barely keep up.
Drat it. He knew. His reluctance to answer her question and Lach's fear that Thumbs had said something he shouldn't have convinced her they both knew how to find Regina. If only she could get one of them to tell her. Thumbs, or Sam, rather, would be the best one; he might be a thug, but there was a soft spot inside that big body. She'd feel bad exploiting the man, but she'd do anything to find her sister.
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