by Dana Alden
Mining For Love
Dana Alden
Copyright © 2019 by Dana Alden
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
Dedicated to my family: Chuck, Jack, Finn,
Courtney, Mom, Dad, Courtney, Bud and Charlotte.
Contents
About this book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue
About the Author
About this book
Cordelia Watson is ready to start over. Her husband didn’t return from the war, her fiancé jilted her, and she’s had enough. J.B. Wood agrees to help Delia start anew in Virginia City, even though all he really wants to do is mine his claim for gold. When bad things start happening, J.B. realizes he’d do anything to protect Delia. But, Delia has a secret that could put their future – and lives – at stake.
Chapter One
August 1865, Montana Territory
Delia couldn’t believe this was happening. She’d traveled across two states and two territories to arrive in Gallatin City, Montana Territory. She’d taken a wagon to a train, to another train, to a steamship and on to a ferry across the Missouri River…to this. To a town so small, she wasn’t sure it should be called a town, and certainly not a city. To the only hotel/restaurant/bar/post office in town.
To be held up at gunpoint.
She was exhausted from traveling, exhausted from trying to sleep sitting up squashed next to other smelly travelers. Exhausted from trying to sleep on a noisy, swaying boat. Exhausted from imagining what she’d find at the end of her journey…and who she’d find.
She was exhausted from guarding her few belongings. She’d brought the maximum she could manage. Everyone said it was different out here, that shopping was difficult, and to bring what was most essential.
And now, here were a couple of men waving their guns around. No one else looked totally panicked, but no one looked relaxed and happy either. There was Mr. Daily, the proprietor. Two young men were sitting at a table near the base of the stairs, greenhorns by the look of them, another sitting very still by the window, with a worn shirt and hat that said he wasn’t new to the West. And Mr. Stacey—he’d driven the wagon over from the ferry station. It was only luck that had placed him there to pick up some crates just when she arrived.
She could have walked, but not with her boxes. She’d hated the thought of leaving them there after keeping them safe all this way. It was just that so many desperate young men were milling about. They were arriving on their way to the placer mines of Alder Gulch and Last Chance Gulch. Others were leaving, finding it too hard to make a living mining, never mind making a fortune. In any case, she feared some might be so desperate as to eye her goods.
And now, again, these new desperados were poking about her stacked boxes. She was going to end up with nothing, when she’d already thought herself as close to nothing as she’d ever hoped to be.
“Whose boxes are these?” demanded the tall, skinny one with black hair and greasy beard.
Delia didn’t want to answer. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself. But she realized after a moment that while none of the men was pointing to her, neither did they want the personal attention of the gunmen.
“Now, Freddy,” said Mr. Daily, leaving his hands on the bar top carefully, but speaking confidently. “You know I have an agreement with Ned Bart. You shouldn’t be in here bothering me or my patrons.”
Delia saw that his speaking distracted the two troublemakers and allowed Mr. Stevens to unholster his own weapon. The man sitting near the window held very still but, she thought, poised for action.
Freddy said, “We’re not bothering you.” He moved his gun down, holding it alongside; he pointed it at the floor, but didn’t holster it. His friend kept his gun high and swung around to aim at Mr. Stevens, who stilled perfectly. “We’re here to greet the young lady.”
He turned to Delia and she felt herself freeze. Was this more than a robbery? Oh, Lord, she thought, please help me.
“Freddy, you leave her be.” Mr. Daily suddenly had his own gun in hand, resting on the bar top, cocked and aimed toward Freddy.
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Daily,” said Freddy with a sly smile, his eyes on Delia as he walked. “I just want to chat.”
He’d reached Delia’s table by then. He pulled out a chair and sat down, half facing her and half facing the rest of the room. He had rotten, yellow teeth and disgusting breath that made Delia lean back when he spoke to her.
“What’s your name, little miss?”
Delia looked over at Mr. Daily, hoping for a clue as how to proceed. He gave her a slight nod.
“Mrs. Cordelia Watson.”
She saw a flicker of…something…in his eyes.
“You married?”
“Yes. No. Uh, widowed.” She could tell by how he nodded in response that he somehow thought that was better than being married.
“What brings you to our neighborhood?” he asked as he tipped his chair back onto two legs. He proceeded to rock it back and forth.
She wasn’t sure what to say. She wanted him to think she had support, that she wasn’t a lone woman in the middle of nowhere with no protection. But she didn’t want to lie, to get him angry if he found out.
“Family.”
He sat forward eagerly. “Family. A brother?”
“No,” she answered too quickly, because she could tell that was the answer he wanted.
“No,” he paused, and then gave that sly smile again. “Are you here to visit your mother?”
His friend across the room laughed. Delia knew there were so few women out here that he’d never believe it, even if she thought she could bluff her way through the interview. She glanced around the room and caught the eye of the man by the window. She realized everyone in the room was listening intently.
“My fiancé.”
Freddy leaned forward so quickly his chair legs slammed into the floor with a bang. Delia flinched. He asked, “Do you mean Samuel Emerson?”
She could tell her answer was important and was so relieved she could say truthfully, “I don’t know that gentleman. My fiancé is Mr. Calvin Ayers.”
Freddy and his friend both looked surprised. “Mountain Man Cal?”
“I don’t know him by that name.”
Freddy looked at her speculatively, trying to decide whether to believe her.
“I have a letter.” She reached for her carpetbag and
then froze when she saw Freddy had pulled out his gun. It was aimed directly at her.
Chapter Two
From his seat by the window, J.B. Wood could see that Mrs. Cordelia Watson was terrified. He had hoped these two men would get the information they were seeking and get out, but now he wondered if he’d misjudged. He didn’t like the way Freddie was waving around his gun, which looked like a Colt Pocket Navy Revolver, probably left over from the war.
J.B. slowly moved his hand toward his own gun. The 5-shot Kerr’s Patent Revolver was engraved with a scene of a stagecoach holdup and J.B. couldn’t help but think it was appropriate to the drama unfolding in front of him.
“In my bag, I have a letter…” the pretty woman said with a shaky voice. After a moment, Freddy nodded. The woman continued to reach in her bag and pulled out a book. Tucked in its pages was a letter. She held it out with a shaking hand. Freddy took it from her, allowing his fingers to touch hers. She shuddered and a look of revulsion crossed her face.
Freddy studied the letter briefly and then tossed it back to her. He stood up so quickly she gasped.
“You ain’t the lady we’re looking for.”
Freddy holstered his gun. J.B. let his fingers begin to slide away from his own weapon, until Freddy leaned his lanky form over Mrs. Watson, reaching out to finger the collar of her dress.
“Oh!” she exclaimed and slapped his hand away. Her eyes turned to saucers when she realized how her instinctual reaction might be taken by the dangerous Freddy. It felt like everyone in the room stopped breathing. But he only laughed, and said, “I’ll see you around, Missus Watson,” emphasizing the Mrs. as though to point out that she didn’t have a Mister to stand between them.
Then Freddy turned and nodded to Mr. Daily. Ignoring everyone else, he gave a let’s go tilt of his head to his partner, and they sauntered out the front door.
J.B. Wood tilted his chair back to look out the window. He wanted to be sure those two rats were good and gone. He watched them untie their horses and head out toward the south. Ned Bart was supposed to have a base somewhere between Bozeman and Virginia City. It was largely so unsettled outside the explosively growing mining towns, that the nasty gang could be well hidden almost anywhere.
Once J.B. was sure they weren’t coming back, he settled his chair back down. Daily and Stevens were uncocking their guns and wiping sweat from their brows. There were two young men sitting at a round table. One looked green with stress while the other looked thrilled with the action, or near action, he’d just seen. J.B. thought this naïve newcomer wouldn’t be so smiley if there had been actual shooting. Nothing romantic about a man’s innards torn open and a painful death. He’s seen too much of that in the War.
Sometimes, he tired of all the newcomers moving to the territory, but he wouldn’t mind a little more civilization. And if that included some beautiful women like the one sitting across the room from him, all the better. He wondered if he should go talk to her. Her hand was still shaking as she brought a cup of Dutch courage to her lips. Daily was encouraging her to drink the libation he’d just brought over.
He also wondered if Cal knew he had a fiancée. He’d just seen his friend and mining partner the previous month and Cal had said nothing about getting married. Had this gal just known Cal’s name and made up a story to sidestep the two gunmen? But she’d had a letter. J.B. wasn’t sure how well Freddy could read, but enough, he suspected, to read a simple letter.
The woman, Mrs. Cordelia Watson, was staring into her cup, gripped between her two hands resting on the tabletop. She had lovely brown hair pulled back in a braided bun at the base of her neck. She had pale skin with some pink on her cheeks and forehead, showing the effects of the strong western sun. She was slender but sturdy-looking, a well-off daughter of a farmer, or even a grocer in town. She had dark circles under her eyes, emphasized by the paleness her shocking experience had brought on.
She had to be tough, J.B. thought, to have traveled here on her own—because she clearly was alone—and to have been inquisited by Freddy at near gunpoint and not have collapsed in vapors.
And, he thought, maybe I ought to stop admiring her so much, if she’s indeed going to be Cal’s bride. With that, he made the decision to introduce himself and see how he could aid her.
He stood up, walked over to her, and sat down beside her. He knew his mama back home would think his manners poor for not introducing himself first, but he didn’t think she was ready for niceties, now he could see how white-knuckled her grip on the cup was. Nor did he want to have his back to the door for long, in case any more troublemakers showed up. Word of a beautiful young woman, unprotected, would travel fast.
“Pardon me, Mrs. Watson. I couldn’t help overhearing you and Freddy just now.” He didn’t continue because her eyes looked so upset, he thought she might run screaming. Maybe not as tough as he’d first surmised. “Are you alright, Ma’am? Those ruffians are gone now.”
“Yes, thank you.” Her voice was low and strained. She watched him warily and he realized she wasn’t to know he meant her no harm nor importuning.
“I’m J.B. Wood, of Virginia City. I’m a business partner, and friend, of Cal’s.”
She looked surprised at that, but it seemed to distract her from her anxiety. Her big green eyes searched his face. She was even prettier up close than she’d seemed from across the room, though now he could see the coating of travel dust covering her from head to toe.
“I was hoping to find Calvin here, in this…town.” She looked around the room, as though looking around a whole town, and she nearly was. “He has his mail delivered here.” She seemed bewildered, her eyes getting glassy.
He felt the corners of his mouth tilt up slightly. What counted for a town in the territories wasn’t the same as back east. He remembered having to grow accustomed to the differences. She was just starting out. “He does have his mail delivered here, but he only comes in once a month or so.” Her focus sharpened momentarily, her eyes meeting his again.
“Do you know when he’s due? Or perhaps I can hire a ride to his…home?”
She didn’t seem to know much about his friend, and again J.B. wondered whether Cal knew he had a fiancée anywhere, never mind here, waiting for him. What he did know, watching her sway slightly, was that she was beyond exhausted.
“I think you’re best off waiting for Cal here, if he hasn’t directed you elsewhere.” She sagged a little. “Have you arranged a room with Daily here?”
She shook her head. “I’ve only just arrived.”
“I’ll set it up.” As he stood up to walk to the bar, he felt her unease at taking help from a strange man, while still being overwhelmed enough to need that help.
He spoke quietly to the hotelier, “Have you got a room for her?” At the nod, he added “And a room next to it for me?” He handed over some coin, received two keys, and walked back to Mrs. Watson. She was already lost in her cup again, with vacant, glazed eyes.
“Let me take you to your room.” The poor thing, so exhausted, glanced from him, to the stairs, to her boxes, confused and wary. “I’ll carry your boxes to your room. You can lock yourself in. I’ll sleep in the room next door and listen for any trouble.”
Mrs. Watson’s eyes teared up. The green eyes became a brighter green. Maybe Cal knew what he was up to. In any case, J.B. would look out for his friend’s fiancée and keep her from harm.
Mrs. Watson stood and J.B. aimed her toward the stairs before stooping to pick up her boxes. There were three. One big one with a rope handle that he tossed onto his shoulder. The other two, he balanced on his hip under his arm. He followed her up the stairs.
As her skirts disappeared down the hall, he suddenly turned to find every single man in the bar gazing wistfully where Mrs. Watson had just been. He paused, turned toward them fully, and one by one met each and every man’s eyes. He was fairly sure they understood his message. Back off.
Chapter Three
Delia woke up to find the dust
motes dancing in the strong sunlight pouring through the thin white cotton window curtain. She felt, at last, like a person again. She was hungry and could tell she had slept through the night and into the next day. She also remembered the men with guns, and the man who had helped her to this room. It seemed he knew Calvin. Hopefully, this Mr. J.B. Wood could help her find him.
She used every drop of water in the pitcher to scrub herself clean. She brushed and rebraided her hair, then shook out her last clean dress to wear. She had let the other ones get so dirty, dusty and sweaty in travel, but couldn’t hold out anymore. It didn’t look like there was a laundress in this little place, but perhaps she could do her own washing? She’d probably have to take in laundry to pay for her room if Calvin didn’t show up soon. She tried to smile at her own joke, but it was too close to the truth to be funny.
Delia closed and locked the door behind her, then walked softly to the stairs. She wanted a moment to peek over the banister and make sure that Freddy fellow hadn’t returned. She saw Mr. Daily behind the bar again, those two young men sitting at the same table as the day before, two more strangers, and Mr. Wood. He was, she realized, quite handsome. Yesterday, she had been too tired to notice anything except that her wariness of him was not enough to set off alarm bells, and at the time, that was all she could do to assess him.
