Frontier Courtship (23 page)

“They’ll be here soon. Time for the rest of us to hide,” Faith said, giving her father a peck on the cheek. “Will you be okay, Papa?”

Emory nodded. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the nuggets since they’d laid them in the shallow, sandy water. His white-knuckled grip on the lever that kept the sluice from rocking gave Faith pause. Though he’d claimed gold had no effect on him anymore, clearly he was deluding himself. Then again, those few nuggets were the only bait they had for their trap. Losing them would be catastrophic.

“Remember, Papa, Charity thinks I’m dead,” Faith reminded him. “You can’t let on otherwise until Tucker has made his move or we’ll lose our advantage.”

Emory agreed. “When she finds out you’re alive she’ll be so happy I know she’ll forgive us for holding back. A few more hours and we can tell her everything.”

“I hope it’s that quick.”

Connell tapped her arm to get her attention. “It’ll be even quicker if you and Irene don’t skedaddle. Take Rojo and hide him behind the cabin with Ben. I’ll stay close to your father, just in case.” He eyed Emory’s fisted hand. “The way he’s shaking, it’ll be a wonder if he lasts long enough to convince Tucker he’s found the mother lode.”

Faith couldn’t argue with that. Emory’s complexion had grown so ashen she’d been thinking the same thing. “All right. Since you’ve shaved your beard off he may not recognize you anyway, especially without your horse.”

“True.” Drawing his fingers slowly over his jaw, Connell smiled at her. “I wondered when you were going to notice the change in me. Were you surprised?”

Surprised? More like thrilled,
Faith thought. The urge to caress his bare cheek had been so strong the first time she’d seen his handsome face sans whiskers, she’d barely managed to control her desire. Only the presence of Irene had stopped her from making a fool of herself.

“You’ll do,” Faith said, trying to sound uninterested.

She’d have been convinced she’d succeeded in misleading him if Connell’s roaring laughter hadn’t continued to echo up the valley from the sandbar long after she and Irene had reached the cabin.

R
eal windows were a luxury few dwellings in Beal’s Bar enjoyed. The two-story Majestic Hotel had three genuine glass panes which, according to Emory, had been packed in from Marysville at the exorbitant cost of forty cents a pound!

Emory’s cabin had one small window in the front, beside the door, which was covered with thin cotton cloth in the summer and blanketed securely come winter. It was easy for Faith and Irene to stay out of sight by simply remaining with the horses and Ben. Conversation inside the cabin echoed up the stovepipe like a megaphone, much to Faith’s surprise and delight.

The sound of her sister’s voice brought tears of relief to her eyes. Charity had survived! And she was mere feet away, on the other side of the wall. Unfortunately, so was Ramsey Tucker.

“My wife and I thank you for your hospitality,” Tucker said. “I’m glad to see you’re doing so well. Naturally, since her poor sister met with such a sad end, Charity has been beside herself.”

“Of course.” There was a choked sound to Emory’s voice. Faith hoped Tucker would assume the telltale emotion was due to something other than perfidy.

“Charity was never strong like her sister,” Emory said. “I can see she’s in need of nursing to get her strength back.”

Faith heard the younger woman begin to sob inconsolably. She chanced a peek inside by lifting a lower corner of the fabric-covered window opening and saw Charity in their father’s tender embrace, her pale blond curls a stark contrast against his dark vest. Ramsey Tucker stood back, his lips curled in a sneer, watching the family tableau unfold.

“If you’ll make me a partner in your mine I might consider letting her stay here with you—until she’s well, I mean,” Tucker said smoothly.

With an arm around her shoulders, Emory gently led his younger daughter aside before he asked, “Would you like that, Charity? Would you like to stay with your papa?”

Nodding, she burst into another wave of loud weeping.

As her father turned back to the wagon boss, Faith saw fire in his gaze.
Not yet, Papa,
she thought, praying he’d be able to hold his tongue and control his temper.
Wait till we finish carrying out our plan.

As if in answer to her thoughts, Emory schooled his features. “I haven’t been well, myself,” he said. “It’s dark and dank down here in this narrow valley and winter’s coming. I need to recuperate where the sun shines and there’s no more cold water soaking my boots. There are times, standing in that icy creek all day long, when my bones ache and I think my poor feet have frozen clean off.” He smiled slightly. “I wonder…no, never mind. It’s silly.”

Tucker rose to the bait. “What?”

“It was just an old man’s folly,” Emory said. “For a minute there I thought of asking you to take over the mine for me while Charity and I moved to Sacramento City.”

“You going to make me a partner, like I asked?”

“No. That wouldn’t be fair to you, doing all the hard work while I sat back and got rich.” He reached into his vest pocket and withdrew the handkerchief in which he’d wrapped his supposed new find, then handed it to Tucker. “You saw me take these out of the Long Tom when you rode up so you know my claim is a good one. Would you be interested in purchasing the mine?”

“The whole thing? No partners?”

As planned, Emory vacillated. “On second thought, I don’t know. I’ve worked awfully hard here.” He looked to his red-eyed, travel-weary daughter. “And I wouldn’t want to come between you and your wife.”

With that, Charity began to howl like a coyote caught in the steel jaws of a fur trapper’s snare.

Tucker guffawed. “Me and the wife aren’t gettin’ along that well, as you can see. I only married her so she could stay with the train after she was left alone. You want her back, old man, she’s yours. I give her to ya. Consider it payment for your claim.”

Emory snorted and shook his head. “Nice try, mister, but as much as I love my girl she’s not payment enough for a claim as rich as mine.” He named an exorbitant price.

“I’ll give you half that and not a penny more,” Tucker said flatly. Faith held her breath. Behind her, she heard Irene’s sharp intake of breath. It was almost over.

“I’ll think on it,” Emory said. “You got that much money with you?”

“I can get it.”

“Sorry. We can’t wait for you to ride all the way to a bank and I won’t take scrip,” Emory said. “Winter’s comin’. Pretty soon the trail up the pass will be too icy for horse or mule. Guess we’ll just have to leave my claim for the winter and hope it’s okay till spring.”

Muttering a curse, Ramsey Tucker said, “Wait here, old man. I’ll be right back with your money.” He started for the door, then paused and wheeled around, hands balled into fists. “And shut up that squawlin’ woman, will ya, or I’ll shut her up myself.”

Outside, Faith sensed her mule’s unrest and calmed him with a hand on his neck. She stroked his velvety nose. “Easy, Ben. Easy. He’s not coming after you. I won’t let him hurt you ever again. I promise.”

Irene was ministering to the canelo, as well. Faith smiled. Any woman who’d make the effort to soothe a helpless animal was okay with her, even if she was a rival for Connell’s affection. Given some of the other choices the plainsman could have made in his travels, Irene would make a fine wife. She was probably a lot like Little Rabbit Woman, his late Arapaho mate, which was all the more reason to be happy for him.

Faith made a wry face. Think it often enough and she just might start to believe it. Eventually.

Emory sat Charity in his only real chair, a rocker where he’d whiled away many an hour of loneliness, and patted her hand. “Stay right here, girl. And stop crying. Your daddy’s fixin’ to make everything up to you. But you’ve got to trust me, you hear?”

She nodded. “I’m so sorry.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry for.” Having no handkerchief, he handed her the corner of her apron. “Dry your eyes and watch. You’re about to see a comeuppance the likes of which you’ve never dreamed.”

“But Papa—”

“Hush.” He straightened, shielding her with his body as Ramsey Tucker returned carrying a small poke.

He slammed it on the table with a vengeance. “There. It’s gold coin. Count it if you want.”

“There’s no need. I trust you,” Emory said.

“Good. Then I’ll be having the deed to all this, including your claim. Put it in writing. You may be the trusting sort, but I’m not.”

“We should both sign,” Emory said. “So there’s no misunderstanding.”

“Fine with me. I can read, so no trickery.”

“You’re buying my cabin and my diggings, is that correct?”

“And all your tools. Be sure to spell it out. I don’t want any questions after you leave.”

“Of course.” Emory took out the stub of a pencil and wet it with his lips while he opened a small notebook. “Let’s see now, the date is around October twenty-ninth, I think. That’s close, anyway. We just heard California became a state, so I know for sure it’s late October.”

“Fine, fine. Get on with it.”

Emory’s hand was shaking. He finished writing, tore the paper from the book and handed it to Tucker. “That look right to you?”

Tucker read it and shoved it back at him. “Sign.”

“You, too. Here. I made a copy.”

“All right, all right. Whatever you say.” Grinning, he signed and immediately spit on the dirt floor. “Since this is my house now, take your useless daughter and get out.”

“In a minute,” Emory said. “First, there’s some folks I’d like you to meet.”

“I got no truck with any of your friends. Gather up your clothes and skedaddle.”

Passing the table, Emory pocketed the poke Tucker had given him, took Charity’s hand and led her to the door. When he opened it, Connell was waiting.

Tucker gaped. “What in blazes…?”

“I believe you already know Mr. McClain,” Emory said.

Connell entered, glaring at Tucker, then stepped back to clear a path for the women.

Faith was first. She came into the room, head lowered, her hat brim shading her face and hiding her features. When she raised her eyes and looked straight at the wagon boss, there was vindication and triumph in her expression.

Before she could speak, however, her sister gave a high-pitched shriek and fainted dead away. If Connell hadn’t been expecting such a reaction and stationed himself close by, she’d have hit the floor. As it was, he managed to catch her before any damage was done.

He looked to Faith with a grin. “I seem to be good at keeping the Beal women from keeling over, don’t I?”

“That, you do.”

Tucker had recovered his self-control enough to say, “She’s no Beal, she’s a Tucker, like it or not.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Faith drawled. “It seems to me you have one too many wives, Captain.”

On cue, Irene stepped through the door. There was no smile on her face. Her spine was stiff, her gait halting. Hate sizzled in her dark eyes.

The astonished look on Tucker’s face was so comical Faith had to giggle. “That’s right,” she said. “Your dear wife, Irene, is alive and well. Isn’t that wonderful? You know what that means? It means my sister can’t possibly be your legal wife. You were still married when you forced her to wed, you, you…”

Words failed her. She’d expected Tucker to show some redeeming emotion: remorse, fear, maybe even relief at seeing that another of his wives had survived. Instead, he began to grin maliciously.

“You can’t prove a thing,” he boasted. “I don’t care what that crazy woman says. Every man in the company knew Indians took her, just like they took you. If she survived, so be it. I was never legally married to her, either. I have a wife waiting for me back in Missouri, the stupid cow. Now, all of you, get out of my house!”

Faith wanted to pummel him with her fists, to wipe the smug grin off his ugly face. Judging by the look Irene was still giving him, she wanted to do much worse.

That was all it took to convince Faith that a strategic retreat was in order. Taking the older woman’s arm, she tried to urge her toward the door.

Irene balked. Faith felt the muscles of her arm bunch beneath her touch just before she jerked free.

A knife blade flashed.

Faith wasn’t braced well enough to stop Irene’s attack. The woman raised the knife over her head, gave a guttural scream and lunged at Tucker.

Though he defended himself, a red slash appeared on his cheek. Blood trickled down his face. With a howl he flung himself at Irene and they landed in a heap on the hard-packed dirt floor, barely missing the small table.

Tucker had one meaty fist clamped on her wrist, stilling the knife. With the other he began to batter her mercilessly.

In two strides Connell was beside them. He passed the unconscious Charity to Emory.

Everyone was shouting, Faith the loudest. She leaped atop Tucker, hoping to slow his assault on Irene.

She might as well have been a flea on a dog’s back for all the attention he paid her. Nevertheless, she resisted when Connell tried to pull her off.

“Get out of the way,” he ordered.

It took several seconds for his command to register with Faith. In those moments, a cut opened on Irene’s temple. Frantic, Faith filled her fist with the wagon boss’s hair and yanked. Irene was like family. She couldn’t step back and let him do her any more damage.

Gripping Faith around the waist, Connell lifted her, kicking and screeching, off the pile of struggling humanity. He grabbed the captain’s shirt collar and jerked him away from Irene, who scrambled to the side, stunned.

Faith hurried to her, steadying her and keeping her from rejoining the fray. Clearly she was in no condition to continue her fight. Tucker was twice her weight and mean as a rattler. Enraged, there was no telling what he might do.

Obviously concerned for Charity, Emory had carried her out the door. Faith tugged Irene and followed. They stumbled around to the rear of the cabin where Emory placed Charity on the ground by the corral.

“What about Connell?” Faith shouted.

“I’m going back to fetch my Colt and help him,” her father answered. “You stay here.”

“No. I’m going with you!”

Before her father could argue, Ramsey Tucker appeared, armed with a pickax. Empty-handed, Faith placed herself between him and the other women, praying Connell was hot on his trail.

Her breath caught. Her heart sped. Where was Connell? Could he be hurt? Maybe even mortally wounded? That thought tore her apart, made her knees weak and her head swim.

Fighting to maintain an air of defiance and fortitude, she prayed silently, fervently, for deliverance. After all they had been through together, was their quest going to end like this, with their entire party slaughtered by the madman they had vowed to destroy? It was unthinkable!

Suddenly, the tall, robust figure of a stranger appeared. He was clad in deerskin breeches and naked to the waist. In one hand he carried a lance. In the other was a shield decorated with eagle feathers and familiar images. Faith couldn’t decide who frightened her more—Tucker or the Cheyenne brave.

Irene pushed past. She threw herself at the Cheyenne, shielding him. The arm he encircled her with was striped with wounds in a geometric pattern that could only have been self-inflicted. Faith had seen similar scars while in the Indian camp but never the fresh wounds of the blood sacrifice.

Her heart broke for the couple. It didn’t take a genius to deduce that this must be Red Deer, Irene’s betrothed. Had he followed them all the way to California? He must have. No wonder Faith had kept sensing an unseen menace! All those times Irene had disappeared into the night finally made sense.

Confusion in Tucker’s expression gave Faith hope. While he was distracted, perhaps someone could disarm him. But who? Why didn’t one of the men act? Connell would have.

Her glance darted to the now silent cabin. For all she knew, dear Connell could be lying dead inside, a victim of Tucker’s malice. Her heart wrenched with actual physical pain.

No one moved. Red Deer seemed content to shield Irene. Emory was in place to defend Charity. That left only Faith.