Foxfire Bride (3 page)

Hands fisted on her hips, Fox watched Tanner return to the clearing, mount, and ride toward the trees. He waved before he disappeared, but she didn't wave back.

"What did you learn about him while you were talking?"

Peaches stood and pressed his hands against the small of his back. "He probably comes from money, judging from his boots, his clothing, and the way he speaks. He's got the east in his voice. No strong ties there, though, or he'd be chomping to get into a Union uniform."

Most of the time Fox forgot there was a war going on. The only sign she'd noticed was a heavy influx of miners as the gold and silver mines went into twenty-four-hour production. The government would buy whatever the mines produced. But out here, unless a body was in the mining industry, the war didn't have much of an effect.

She thought of something else over a supper of potatoes and dried fish. "Tanner was mighty pale, didn't you think? Like he doesn't spend a lot of time in the sun even though he sat his horse well."

"Miners are pale, if that's what you're thinking. I hate dried fish."

"I don't make him for a miner. Too well dressed, too much authority, clean fingernails. Did you see his face when I talked about being in charge? That didn't set well. He's used to making decisions and giving orders." She shoved a fork at the fish. "I don't like fish either."

"Then why do we have to eat it?"

"Because we spent all that time last summer drying fish for nights like this when we don't have a rabbit."

"You should be ashamed of yourself, Missy, charging that man thieving rates."

Fox grinned around a mouthful of limp carrots grown last summer. "He doesn't have to hire me."

"He will," Peaches predicted, looking at her across the table. "After Mr. Tanner checks you against what else is available, he'll be back."

"I'm more or less planning on it." All Fox had to do was think Jennings's name and a familiar burn flamed inside. Jennings had stolen her life. If it wasn't for him, she wouldn't consider leading a bunch of greenhorns on a long dangerous trek that was going to be a whole lot of trouble. She wouldn't be here in this cabin, wearing men's clothing and eating with her fist wrapped around her fork. If it wasn't for Jennings, she wouldn't be trying to think of one good reason to get up every morning and go on living.

"I have to do this, Peaches," she said in a low voice. "I'm almost sure Jennings is still in Denver. I heard that he owns several mines in this area, but his company is still based in Denver. I need to accomplish one good thing in my life, and that would be killing Jennings. He has to pay for what he did."

"Well, the good news is that you're moving again. Going to get off this mountain. Who knows what you'll find out there? Might find something better than revenge."

"There's nothing better than revenge. I just wish I'd done it sooner."

Peaches pressed his lips together and cleared the table. "We're playing checkers tonight. You're the red chips."

By morning Fox had made up her mind. Shortly before dawn, she and Peaches loaded the wagon with as many ice blocks as the horse could pull, then headed down the mountain to Carson City.

To call Carson a city expressed breathtaking optimism. On the other hand, the little town had boomed in the three years since the Comstock Lode had put the Nevada Territory on the map. Carson wanted to be the town where the Comstock miners and supervisors spent their pay.

Before they reached the outskirts Fox and Peaches changed places on the wagon seat since Peaches didn't believe it was right or decent for a woman to drive while a man rode passenger. It was an argument that Fox was never going to win.

While they were stopped, she nailed a sign to each side of the wagon slats: Ice for Sale.

"I guess we'll find out if it's been warm enough to create a market," she said, climbing up on the passenger side.

Peaches chose a circuitous route down dusty streets past a hodgepodge of tents, lean-tos, shacks, and tidy homes that would have fit comfortably into a real city. By the time he turned south on Curry Street, half the ice had been sold.

"The hotel will buy the rest," Peaches predicted.

"Hold back a block or two for the bar." A squint toward the sun told Fox it was near midday. "Drop me at the General Store," she said, patting her vest pockets to find her list. "I'll make sure McGurty has the provisions we need, then I'll see if Whitfield has any horses worth what he'll try to charge me. How about you and me meet up at Jack's Bar about four o'clock."

"I'm thinking we should be on the road no later than four thirty," he said, lowering his head and giving her a look from beneath his eyebrows that said, I mean it. "So don't get social and don't go looking for a fight. I don't want to be sitting in Jack's Bar at midnight."

Tanner thought he spotted Fox striding into the General Store, but when she didn't emerge after a few minutes, he decided he'd been mistaken. That didn't surprise him since his eyes were red and stinging from riding all morning in a dusty breeze. What irritated him more than sore eyes was wasting a day that he didn't have to spare.

While he waited for the bank to assemble his request, he considered the scouts he had interviewed. The most recent had occurred this morning at a shack built on a low rise surrounded by blowing sand. The man Tanner had ridden six miles to interview impressed him as being as shifty as the ground swirling around the bare boards of his place.

The teller returned to the cage and cleared his throat, blinking curiously behind his spectacles. "We've accommodated your requirements, Mr. Tanner."

"Thank you. The St. Charles Hotel is expecting delivery." On the way out, he stopped by the president's office to express gratitude for everything that had been done to meet his needs, namely a relay of riders sent to Reno to dispatch and receive telegrams from Denver.

After he'd confirmed that the St. Charles manager had locked the bags in the hotel's vault, Tanner ordered a whiskey sent to his room, then changed out of his dusty riding togs into evening attire suitable for an at-home supper at the home of John Manning, with whom he'd been working at the Gallows Mine.

He had a few hours before he was due to arrive at Manning's house; a walk might clear his mind. Everything was in place for the journey except the scout. He had to make a decision. No sooner had he thought the words than he spotted Peaches Hernandez driving an empty wagon south on Curry Street. The bed was wet and there were for-sale signs on the side slats.

So he hadn't been mistaken about noticing Fox. He hailed the wagon and asked where she was, then walked toward the trading corral next to the smithy.

She wasn't hard to spot, not with that fiery hair. She stood nose to nose with Harry Whitfield, the only horse trader in town. Leaning forward from the waist, she slapped her hat against her thigh, looking mad enough to chew nails.

"That's it," she shouted, shoving her hat on her head. "My client isn't going to pay one hundred dollars for a scrawny bag of bones! That's robbery, you bastard. And the mules." She flung a hand toward the animals in the corral. "Bow-backed with one hoof in the grave! Eighty dollars? Ha! Only if every other animal in the territory drops dead in the next hour." Spinning on her heel, she walked into Tanner. It occurred to him that the collision was like two rocks smacking together. No give in either of them.

Fox shoved back from his chest and raised a flushed face. "I'm glad you're here. You won't believe what this thief is trying to charge you for those horses! Look at 'em. I never saw such sorry specimens." She threw a glare over her shoulder and shouted at Whitfield. "You think about it and come up with a better price, a discount for volume, say, or I'm heading up to Gold Canyon to see what Pinky Borden can offer. I'll stop by in the morning for your final offer. On my way to Gold Canyon."

She watched Whitfield stomp toward the smithy then gave Tanner a push toward the corral. "We're going to buy those two mustangs," she said, speaking in a low voice and pointing out the horses after making sure Whitfield was not watching them. "A California mustang doesn't look like much, but they all have sure feet and endurance and can go a long way on a sip of water." She squinted up at him. "I'm making some assumptions here."

"You sure as hell are."

"I'm assuming we only need horses for me and Peaches. I'm assuming you'll ride the big bay you rode up to my place. Correct?"

"You're assuming I'm going to hire you."

"Of course you are. By now you know I'm the only credible choice you have. The real question is, Do I want to spend three months with you? We need to get that settled." Tilting her head back, she measured the sun's progress. "I'm meeting Peaches at Jack's Bar in a few minutes. You should come, too. We got things to discuss before this is a deal." Drawing back, she looked him up and down before she took off down the street. "My, my, look at you. Aren't we fancy."

Tanner crossed his arms on the top rail of the corral and studied the horses she'd pointed out. Then he considered the mules. At once he saw that she'd chosen the best animals in the lot. He hoped she was as competent in all other areas because it appeared that he'd hired her. With luck, he wouldn't regret it.

She was the only woman in Jack's Bar who wasn't wearing a skimpy costume and carrying a serving tray. Nobody paid her and Peaches a lick of attention so Tanner figured they came here often.

"Whiskey," he said to the bartender who was chipping at a block of ice that still had bits of straw frozen on the surface.

"He's paying for us, too," Fox said, pointing her thumb at Tanner before she turned to face him. "I dropped a list of provisions at the General Store so McGurty knows what we need. But I can't figure quantities until I know how many are in our party."

"You, Mr. Hernandez, me, and two other men."

"Fine. I'll firm up the order. When do you want to leave?"

"As soon as possible. Will the day after tomorrow give you enough time to put things together?"

"I told you it would," she said, frowning. "Do the two other men have their own horses?"

"They have horses and gear. So do I." He could almost see her ticking items off a mental list. "I'm not going to buy your ice."

"Buying our ice was part of the deal." Stiffening, she narrowed her eyes.

Tanner called her attention to the bartender who had returned to his ice pick and the block of ice, then he pointed to the frozen chunks in his whiskey glass, which he'd gotten without asking. He didn't like ice in his whiskey. "You don't get to sell the same ice twice, not if I'm one of the buyers." Over her shoulder, he watched Peaches suck in a smile and look at the ceiling.

"We only sold a small part! I'll be busy tomorrow working on your requirements, and I won't have time to sell the rest. The remaining ice is going to melt if I go off with you. That's a lot of money turning into water. I figure you owe us!"

"Maybe so, maybe not. Regardless, I'm not going to pay you for the ice."

"Well, what about that horse out there hitched to the wagon? I'm trading it to Whitfield for a credit on your animals."