Love in Disguise (9 page)

“Not at all.” Those beautiful brown eyes mirrored his relief. “Take your time until you’re sure you’ve fully recovered.”

Over his shoulder Ellie could see Althea Baldwin watching them. When their gazes connected, the woman waggled her eyebrows and gave Ellie a knowing wink.

Ellie felt her cheeks flush and shifted her focus back to the miner. “Gracious, we haven’t even been introduced. I’m Mrs. Lavinia Stewart. I’ve just arrived from Chicago, and—”

The door swung open on its hinges and crashed into the wall. Ellie jumped and turned to see an unshaven man in a battered bowler hat stumble inside. Tears streaked the dirt on his stubbly cheeks as he clasped his hands to his chest. “Somebody shot Fatima!”

8

E
llie gasped and pressed her hands against her throat. The only sound in the room was that of the unkempt man’s ragged breath as he sent puffs of alcohol-laden fumes into the air. Ellie waved one hand in front of her nose as discreetly as she could and sent a glance from Steven Pierce to the cowboy to the storekeeper, wondering who would move first.

To her astonishment, everyone went back to what they’d been doing as though nothing had happened, save for the cowboy, who glanced up with a mild show of interest. “Where’d they hit her this time?”

Ellie stared, aghast. Why didn’t someone move? She had heard lurid tales of the cheapness of life in the Wild West, but could anyone really be that callous? She straightened her shoulders and raised her voice. “Has a doctor been summoned?”

“There’s no need for that.”

Ellie looked up at Steven Pierce, feeling a stab of disappointment that took her by surprise.

When he spoke next, it wasn’t to her but to the inebriated man. “Take it easy, Lester. It’s just one more hole. A little dab of paint, and she’ll be fine.”

Ellie backed away. Reminding herself to stay in character, she put her hand to her lips when what she really wanted to do was grab his shirtfront with both hands and shake the stuffing out of Steven Pierce . . . and everyone else in the store. Not a soul was paying the least bit of attention to the tragedy.
What is wrong with these people?

The cowboy took a two-bit piece from his vest pocket and tossed it to the sobbing man. “Here. Why don’t you head on over to the Last Chance and drown your sorrows?”

Ellie pushed her glasses up on her nose and gave the handsome miner beside her a severe look. “How can you possibly dismiss an injured woman with nothing more than a wave of the hand?”

His beguiling smile dissolved. “I apologize. I realize how that must sound to a newcomer. It’s just that Fatima isn’t . . . well, she isn’t really . . .”

Ellie drew herself up. “Please don’t tell me it’s because she’s a foreigner.”

His eyes widened. Then, to her astonishment, he chuckled.

Ellie narrowed her eyes. “I fail to find anything funny about this, Mr. Pierce.”

The smile faded from his lips, and he glanced around the store. “I’ll try to explain it to you, but it might be best if we step outside. May I escort you to wherever you’re going next?”

Ellie nodded, too stunned to say anything more. Her first afternoon in Arizona was starting to take on the character of a dream, and a bad one at that. Mr. Pierce set the keg of nails next to the counter and called to the store owner, “I’ll be back for these later, Walter.” He tucked Ellie’s hand into the crook of his arm and led her to the door.

Once outside, he asked, “Where exactly are we heading?”

Ellie pointed to the right. “The corner of Charles and Second. The old—”

“Oh, the Cooper place.”

Ellie fought the impulse to roll her eyes. “I believe you were going to explain everyone’s inexplicable reaction to the shooting of an unfortunate woman.”

“She isn’t a woman. Not exactly, I mean . . .” Pierce’s voice trailed off, and his face colored.

Ellie lifted her eyebrows and spoke in a crisp tone. “Mr. Pierce, she may or may not be a lady, but surely there can’t be any question about her status as a woman.”

Her companion rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, looking as though he would rather be anywhere else. “Well, she is a woman, but she’s only a painting.”

Ellie stopped dead in the middle of the boardwalk. “Are you trying to tell me that man was sobbing his heart out about damage to a painting?” As the words sunk in, she added, “And what connection does he have to this Fatima, anyway? He hardly seems the type to own a piece of artwork.”

Mr. Pierce’s color deepened. “He doesn’t own her . . . it. She hangs on the wall in a local establishment.”

The pieces fell into place. “By establishment, I assume you mean a saloon?”

He nodded. “The Palace. Some of the boys have become somewhat infatuated with her. She’s rather, ah . . . Rubenesque.” His face was now the color of a dark red brick.

“I see. But why would anyone shoot a painting?”

“It probably wasn’t intentional. Sometimes things get a little lively at the Palace, and one of the fellows lets loose with his pistol. When they did this time . . .”

“Poor Fatima was a casualty?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Does this happen often?”

One corner of Pierce’s lips twitched. “I believe this latest bullet hole brings the count up to nine.”

“Oh my.” She decided to take pity on him and changed the subject. “I was visiting with Mrs. Baldwin in the mercantile. She said you’re a miner?”

“A mine owner, actually.” He squared his shoulders and stood straighter. “I staked the claim for the Redemption two years ago.”

Ellie leaped straight at the opening he’d given her. “Then it’s quite fortuitous, the two of us meeting like this. Providential, you might say.”

“Oh? How so?”

She squeezed his arm, noting again the firmness of his biceps. “Meeting someone like you is the very reason I came out west.”

His step faltered, and he shot her a sidelong glance. “Really?”

Idiot!
Ellie felt the heat of a flush on her cheeks. What better way to send the poor man running than to make him think an older woman had set her cap for him? She couldn’t afford to lose the chance to strike up an acquaintance with a key player in her little drama.

“I am looking for an opportunity to invest in a profitable venture,” she explained. “When I heard about Arizona’s silver mines, the possibilities seemed worthy of investigation.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Steven’s mouth. “Do you always research potential investments in person?”

Ellie nodded, improvising according to the background she had created for Lavinia. “My late husband was a great believer in the personal touch. Besides, it’s time for me to make a fresh start. I’ve been widowed for nearly three years, and I need a change. Making a trip out west seemed just the thing to pull me out of my doldrums.”

She lifted her eyes to the horizon, where fingers of gold and crimson had begun to weave their way across the sky. “I look at it as a grand adventure. I might even decide to stay on permanently.”

Steven smothered a grin. Despite her age, Lavinia Stewart showed spunk aplenty. How seriously should he take her talk of making a fresh start in Pickford? Was she in earnest about investing in his mine? He decided to probe a little. “So you’re interested in mining?”

“I’m interested in making money, Mr. Pierce. My husband was both a shrewd investor and a good teacher. I believe I learned his lessons well.”

Steven’s step faltered. “You don’t mean to say you ventured out here on your own?”

“I’m afraid so.” A look of frustration crossed her face. “I intended to travel out here with my niece. We left Chicago together, but she was delayed along the way.”

Steven looked with new respect at the diminutive woman walking beside him. She might remind him of one of the faded roses his mother used to press between the pages of her Bible, but apparently she possessed more grit than met the eye.

He had heard stories of intrepid women like Tombstone’s Nellie Cashman, who once carried loads of potatoes and limes by dogsled to save a group of miners in British Columbia suffering from scurvy. Tales like that never failed to inspire his admiration, but he never expected to come across the same spirit of adventure in a woman of advancing years.

A new thought struck him. He had been asking God to show him a way to keep his business going. Maybe his prayers were being answered. And wouldn’t it be just like God to send the answer in such an unusual package?

The heaven-sent response to his prayer was looking up at him with unconcealed interest. “I don’t believe in buying a pig in a poke, Mr. Pierce. If I am going to sink my money into this venture, I want to know all about it.”

“That’s good business practice. I’ll be happy to tell you whatever you’d like to know.”

Mrs. Stewart’s smile shone like a beacon. “Wonderful. Now, tell me all about silver mining. Don’t leave anything out.”

She couldn’t have picked a topic he’d rather hold forth on. From Fourth Street to Second, he talked about ore and veins and the assayed value per ton, watching Mrs. Stewart’s face to see if she seemed to be following. She nodded intelligently, throwing in probing questions from time to time.

He bit back a grin and tried not to let his elation show. This was it—he could feel it. He was going to be given the chance to infuse much-needed capital into the Redemption and keep it going after all.
Thank you, Lord.

As they neared the north end of Second Street, her steps slowed a bit. “What about the actual shipments of the silver to wherever it is you send it? How do you manage to keep it secure?”

Steven felt like he’d just stepped off a cliff. She’d asked the one question he’d hoped wouldn’t arise. He opened his mouth, then clamped his lips together, knowing his words could impact her decision. He needed to choose them carefully.

With all his heart, he wanted to gloss over the recent losses and focus on the mine’s potential. All he had to do was describe his alliance with the other mine owners and the security precautions they had taken, conveniently omitting the losses they had incurred and the fact that they had been forced to call in the Pinkertons. He could do that easily enough. She had no reason to doubt his word, and he already sensed a rapport between them. All it would take was a few well-chosen half-truths, and she’d be ready to hand over the money that would ensure the Redemption’s future.

He looked down at her softly weathered face, and the words froze on his lips. Regardless of what it might cost him, he couldn’t violate the woman’s trust—or his own standards of integrity.

“I’d like to tell you everything is going well in that department, but the truth is, we’ve been having problems lately. Not just me, but all the mine owners in the area.” They reached the front porch, with Steven knowing his chances of rescue were slipping away with every step he took.

Mrs. Stewart stopped abruptly at the top of the porch steps and aimed a stern look at a lilac bush. “I see you in there, young man. You’d best be getting home now.”

Steven eyed his companion with concern until he saw Billy Taylor climb out of the bush, looking more disgruntled than abashed.

“There now.” Mrs. Stewart gestured to a pair of wooden rocking chairs. “I believe we’ll be able to continue our conversation without fear of being overheard.”

Smothering a grin, Steven settled her in one of the chairs, then took the other himself and began outlining his troubles.

She watched him closely but didn’t speak again until he had finished. Steven braced himself, waiting for her to thank him for escorting her home and send him on his way. Instead, she tilted her head to one side like a curious wren. “In my experience, nothing worthwhile ever comes without a struggle. I’m sure if we put our heads together, we can come up with some way to thwart these villains.”

Her calm statement rocked him. Had he really heard her use the word
we
, as though she was already a partner?

An inspiration popped into his mind, one he felt sure would please the Lord far more than his earlier inclination to compromise the truth. “Would you like to attend church with me on Sunday morning? We could talk more about the mine—and your part in it—afterward. Perhaps over lunch?”

Mrs. Stewart looked up at him with every evidence of delight. “What a lovely idea. I shall look forward to Sunday.”

With that arranged, he walked back to his office with a lighter heart than he’d had in days. He managed to keep to a sedate pace, although what he really wanted to do was kick up his heels and shout loud hosannas.

Maybe he hadn’t muffed his opportunity after all.