She caught Grandfather Craig’s shifting gaze and how his mouth twisted beneath his well-groomed mustache. “Heard he was killed in a mining accident two days ago. He was a good man. Said he’d come back to reclaim it. Reckon it’s all yers now.”
She stroked the cover of the case, wondering about the man who had traveled cross-country to strike it rich in Colorado, and who had taken such extraordinary care of his guitar. “I’m sorry. I would have enjoyed hearing him play.”
Daniel had remained statue-still through her verbal exchange with Grandfather Craig, listening, watching, his face growing more intense, his jaw tighter.
Amber counted out the bills to pay for her purchases and handed over the payment. She did a quick mental calculation to figure out how much she had left for room and board and a dress or two for her performances. Next week, after she got paid for her gig, she’d have enough money to take the stagecoach to Morrison to go fossil hunting.
“Will Mrs. Hughes be here tomorrow? I need to pick out a warm dress, stockings, gloves…” She put her hand to her head. “A hat, too, I think.”
Grandfather Craig placed her purchases in a brown sack and rolled down the top. “I’ll let her know to expect ye.”
“I look forward to meeting her.” Amber came from a family of huggers and wanted to give Grandfather Craig a hug, but she couldn’t. He would think it was odd, as would Daniel, who was still glaring at her, suspicion and confusion warring in his cobalt-colored eyes.
He hustled her outside where the orange wash of the sun’s last light was fading, and twilight was closing in. He pulled her aside, looming large over her, and the sharpness in his voice cut through the chilly air.
“I’ve traveled through Europe, spent time in New York and San Francisco, Denver and Santa Fe, Kansas City and St. Louis, and I’ve never met a woman with yer legal prowess or brashness. Who are ye, and where did ye come from?”
“You heard my curriculum vitae in the judge’s chambers. I don’t have anything to add,” she said.
“Yes, ye do.” He jerked his hands to his hips, spreading open his duster and revealing for the first time a Pinkerton Detective Agency badge. Below the watch chain attached to his waistcoat by a T-bar, was the heavy gleam of a gun belt with a Colt .45 riding on his right hip. He’d said he worked for the railroad. Not even in this alternate universe could she have imagined him as a Pinkerton man.
“Stories grow in this town, Miss Kelly. And folks will talk about what ye did for Noah. The story will change as it’s told. It always does. By week’s end, the story will be that ye shot the driver to keep him from running over the lad. Men will see a kid looking to make a name for himself. No one will believe ye’re a lass with fast legs. They’ll only hear ye’re a kid with fast hands.” His tone hardened. “Do ye want that reputation?”
“That’s ridiculous. No one will believe that. I’m an innocent bystander who just arrived in town and I’m not buying whatever you’re selling. I haven’t done anything wrong, and I’m not wearing a gun.”
“Then tell me who ye are and where ye’re from?”
She clenched her hand into a fist to give herself a moment to think. Then, “Amber Kelly and I just arrived here. Do you harass every stranger who comes to town, or just women who save your son’s life?” She was deflecting because she didn’t have an answer for his question. Finally, she threw out the name of the first city she could think of south of Leadville. “I just arrived from Granite. Before that I was in Colorado Springs, Wichita, Kansas City, and St. Louis. I travel around. I do some lawyering when I feel like it and sing for my meals when I don’t. Anything else you want to know? Like what size shoe I wear?”
He folded his arms across his chest, his silver cufflinks twinkling in the light from the store window, and he looked down his nose at her. “Whatever ye tell me, just remember, specious explanations don’t hold water any better than a leaky pot.”
“You’re full of horsefeathers. Now, I’m hungry and tired. If you’re not going to introduce me to your landlady, then I’m going back to Tabor Opera House and ask Mr. Tabor if I can rent a room on the third floor.”
Daniel’s deliberate gaze reminded her of an opposing attorney trying to sniff out a bluff. “I won’t have ye over there warding off his oily advances.”
“Thanks for protecting my virtue. Although you’ll let rumors spread about my fast hands.” She let out an exasperated sigh. “If you intend to keep harassing me, I’m going, and I don’t need your approval.”
Her contractual obligations required her to remain in town for the next few days. By then she’d have traveling money and could leave Leadville on the first stage to Denver and then on to Morrison. But in the meantime, she had to come up with a plausible life story that would satisfy a Pinkerton agent.
“You’re not the only person who’s traveled. I’ve been to all those cities, too. My travels, my experiences, and my family influenced my thinking. You’re right. You probably haven’t met a woman like me, but that doesn’t mean women like me don’t exist.”
Daniel raised his eyebrows, tipped back his hat, and turned an impenetrable dark gaze at her. “I’m suspicious by nature.”
“Great. Then you have the perfect job.”
He took her arm and directed her off the boardwalk and around the corner to a hardscrabble footpath lined with single-story ramshackle buildings.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked.
Light from the windows cast wavering shadows over him, giving him a wrathful look, like an avenging angel who had come to capture her.
“To jail.” The note of authority in his voice along with the statement came across pointed and dangerous. “I’m deputized in seven states”—he patted his breast pocket—“and I carry ‘John Doe’ warrants.”
She halted and tried to wrench her arm free of his grasp. “For what? Acting strange?” She fought to keep a quaver from her voice. “I haven’t done anything illegal. And I’m not going with you.”
She stepped around his scowling presence. “I saved your son this afternoon. Why are you acting like a jerk?” She stomped away and dropped under the weight of her worry onto a bench along the boardwalk—her packages under her arm and the guitar case across her lap.
He didn’t come after her. Maybe he was going to leave her alone, but she doubted it. His personality was defined by his dogged determination.
He’ll come back and ask again where I came from.
The hour was on the fringe of evening now, and the lamplighters were beginning their nightly routine of lighting the gas streetlamps on Harrison Avenue. The incessant hammering continued, and the boardwalk was as crowded with a throng of miners at this hour as it had been when she first arrived.
It seemed like a year ago now. She glanced back toward Hughes Store. Like most of the shops on the street, it remained open. It must be true that during the silver boom, you could buy a pan or a mule anytime in Leadville from sun up to sun up.
A column of dust mixed with golden aspen leaves swirled through the street, pulling bits of trash in its wake. A wisp of unblemished mountain air—cool and crisp—tapped her chin, like the gentle touch of her late grandmother.
What are you trying to tell me, Granny? Not to be discouraged. Not to give up. To go after what I want.
But what did she want? She wanted to spend time with her grandparents, to fossil hunt in Morrison, then go home. The first two she could accomplish. The third depended on the fickleness of the amber brooch.
7
1878 Leadville, Colorado—Amber
Amber sensed Daniel’s intense glare before he joined her on the wide pine bench on the boardwalk. The supports squeaked under his weight. Although he tried to appear relaxed, the position of his hand, within easy access of his holster was a neon sign, flashing—Try me if you dare. He was a large man, well-built and athletic, and he smelled of newly tanned leather. She found herself leaning toward the scent like a foraging bumblebee.
“Ye’re full of s
ass.”
A statement rather than a question. A new tactic?
She turned to face him and offered a polite smile. “Can we talk about this over dinner? I’m starving. I’m not a threat to you or anyone else. I get that you’re suspicious, but I haven’t done anything wrong, and you won’t find a wanted poster with my picture on it. I’m an educated free spirit with more than a bit of sass. You’re right. So lighten up, Agent Grant.”
He flashed the impenetrable dark gaze again. “Lighten up?”
“I just meant you shouldn’t worry so much.”
“If ye’d been guilty of a crime, ye would have run farther than a few feet.”
She tapped her fingers lightly on the guitar case. “I have nowhere to run. Now, if we’re finished here, I need to make arrangements for tonight.”
“I’ll take ye to meet Mrs. Garland.”
She glanced back toward the general store. Imposing on her grandparents’ historical generosity seemed safer. Daniel’s suspicious nature could complicate her already complicated situation.
“I don’t want to impose.”
“Noah’s had time to get to the boardinghouse and tell Mrs. Garland. Knowing her, she’s already preparing the room.”
If she went to the boardinghouse for the night, then tomorrow she could look for other living arrangements. Although in a town as crowded as Leadville, there probably weren’t many available rooms, except for the actors’ rooms at Tabor Opera House.
“If you’re sure,” she said.
He reached for the guitar case. “I’ll carry this. If it’s inconvenient, Mrs. Garland will let me know, and tomorrow I’ll help ye find another room.”
Amber shoved the package of personal items into one of her jacket’s drop-in pockets. “It’ll only be for a week. I could pay extra, if necessary.”
Daniel escorted her across Harrison Avenue. She stopped in the middle of a wagon rut for a moment. “Noah came so close—”
Daniel tugged on her arm. “If ye stand here, it’ll be ye who gets run over today.”
She ducked her head against a gust of wind and continued to cross the rutted street. They reached the boardwalk on the other side and Daniel glanced back at the path they had taken.
“I’ll see Noah falling off that wagon for the rest of my life. If ye’d been a second slower, ye wouldn’t have reached him in time.”
His memory of that moment had to be much worse than her own. She knew she had a chance, but for Daniel watching from the bank, he knew he had none.
Why had she been at that corner at that moment? If she’d found the lost brooch sooner, she wouldn’t have been there. She stared down the length of the street to where the mountain peaks lay shrouded in the dark, just as her life beyond the wormhole was shrouded and inaccessible to her. She considered the opportunities she would have missed in her life if she hadn’t been in the right place at the right time. This was just one more in her history of coincidences or fate or serendipity or stars aligning.
Stars aligning? That seemed more apropos.
Daniel took her arm and guided her down the boardwalk. They turned left onto 4th Street and walked toward a jagged dark line of silhouetted houses where wavering lamplight flickered behind curtains of thin muslin and ragged lace. At the corner of Pine Street, he pushed open a wrought-iron gate and ushered her through.
“This is it,” he said.
This was no slap-and-dash boomtown boardinghouse. A sidewalk led to a covered porch which sported an impressive spool and spindle porch frieze. Lamps were aglow in several windows on both floors, and smoke trailed from the chimney.
She gained the little porch, just a half pace behind him. Daniel paused and put one hand on the doorknob, forcing her to stop. “Mrs. Garland is from Virginia. She’s a very proper lady.”
Amber stood still for a moment, trying to slow her heart, still racing from the change in oxygen levels in the high altitude. “Are you trying to tell me she won’t appreciate my trousers?”
“Her opinion will likely be influenced by yer appearance.”
Amber gave him a big fake smile. “So I should try to win her over with my charming personality because I’m dressed inappropriately. You sound like my sister.”
“Sounds like yer sister has good judgment. Ye could try emulating her. As far as Mrs. Garland is concerned, if ye show her the respect ye showed the judge, ye should get on fine.”
“How well do you know her?”
Daniel continued blocking the door. He glanced away, his jaw clenching, then returned his gaze to her, letting a heavy silence settle over them for a moment. “Her husband was a Pinkerton agent. He left the agency and came out here to try his hand at mining. He did quite well until he was killed in an accident. When I got this new assignment, Mrs. Garland offered to take care of Noah when I traveled.”
Most of Daniel was in shadow, but in stark contrast, his face was lit by interior lamplight pouring from the windows, highlighting the angle of his jaw, the sharpness of his cheeks, and the depths of his eyes. In the Caravaggio-style lighting, his intense gaze gave her that I-feel-guilty flutter in her stomach. In return, she gave him her best professional opaque look. A mask she’d perfected that gave opposing counsel little insight into what she was thinking—her poker face.
“Where’d ye leave yer traveling bags?”
So much for her practiced look. Note to self: It doesn’t work on Pinkerton agents.
There was a gradual freezing in the air and she pulled her jacket a little tighter around her. “I don’t have any. I sold everything I had.”
He dropped his hand from the doorknob and casually leaned against the doorjamb. Then he gave her a look, the kind of look her clients gave her when she gave them advice they didn’t quite believe.
“Why’d ye do that?” The lamplight chased the shadows away, revealing a look of concern etched into his face. And for a moment he looked more like a dad than a Pinkerton agent.
The cold seeped under her jacket and the vapor from their breath misted the air. She had to warm up and knowing food and heat were only steps away eroded her remaining patience. There was no humor in her tone of voice when she said, “To buy a stagecoach ticket.”
“From where?”
“I told you already. I just arrived from Granite.” It was only about eighteen miles away, so surely there was a stagecoach traveling between the two towns.
He tipped back his hat, raised his eyebrows, and another heavy silence followed before he asked his next question. “Why were ye there?”
“If you need my life history before you introduce me to Mrs. Garland, I’ll tell you. Otherwise, can it w…a…it?” The word came out as an uncharacteristic whine. “My ribs are gnawing on each other.” She breathed deeply through her nose. “Just smell those fresh baked biscuits.”
Before Daniel had a chance to respond the door flew open. If he’d been leaning against it instead of the doorjamb, he would have fallen to the floor. “Did you bring Miss Kelly?”
“He did,” she said, stepping out from behind Daniel to find a very concerned Noah, holding his arm close to his body. “How are you feeling? Is your arm bothering you?”
He gave her a one-shoulder shrug. “Not so much. Just a little sore.” He backed out of the way, so they could come inside. “I told Mrs. Garland you were coming. She said you could stay the night.”
Amber made her way into the foyer. An elaborately carved hallstand with a long-beveled mirror, hooks, and a bench seat stood near the door. She caught a glimpse of her disheveled and muddy appearance and nearly groaned. Her mother and sister would have fits if they saw Amber now. Dressed as she was, she shouldn’t be allowed through anyone’s front door.
Daniel placed the guitar on the bench. “Can I help ye with yer coat?”
She lifted the package from the front drop-in pocket and set it next to the guitar before shrugging out of the jacket. From the outer edge of her vision, she caught Daniel eyeing the Patagonia label, and she silently groaned. Before
he had time to study the label further, she took the jacket away from him and hung it on a hook.
Daniel shed his coat. Then, as if performing a dance he’d done hundreds of times before, he untied the thigh thong, unfastened the large belt buckle at his waist, coiled his cartridge belt around his holster, and set the gun rig on the shelf above the hall tree. After brushing off the top of his hat, he placed it upside down on the shelf alongside the gun rig.
Meticulous, methodical, and surprisingly sexy, and she had to look away before he removed anything else.
She turned her attention to Mrs. Garland’s house. Having completed a remodel of her home in Denver, Amber appreciated the work of skilled carpenters. Whoever did the custom wainscoting and inlaid wood ceiling was more than skilled. He was an artist, and he’d built the Garland residence to showcase the owner’s wealth and standing in the community. The cost of shipping brass and crystal light fixtures and even a stained-glass window would have been prohibitive for most citizens of Leadville.
A chill penetrated Amber’s bones despite the heat from a stove at one end of the parlor and a fireplace at the other. She moved to the fireplace, standing to one side of the screen, and held out her hands, grateful for the increasing warmth that slowly removed the cold from her hands and face. It would take a little bit longer to reach her feet.
A woman of middle age with steel-rimmed spectacles perched atop iron-colored hair set in dramatic curls, paused at the doorway and eyed Amber with curiosity. After hesitating a moment, she entered the room dressed in a light gray ensemble that swished softly on the carpet with each small step.
“Noah said I might have a new boarder.” Her mouth was set with the certainty of someone who knew the right and wrong of the world. When she pulled her glasses from the top of her head, it disturbed her elaborate coif and several strands stood on end. She placed her glasses on her nose and with a spectacle-enhanced stare said, “I’m Mrs. Garland.”
The Amber Brooch: Time Travel Romance (The Celtic Brooch Book 8) Page 11
