The Confidential Life of Eugenia Cooper (7 page)

Somewhere beyond this thoroughly modern train station was a wilderness waiting to be tamed by the likes of Mae Winslow. A giggle bubbled up, and Gennie covered her lips to keep from laughing aloud.

Now to search the milling throng for Daniel Beck. Having forgotten to ask for a description, she quickly realized any one of the men openly staring at her were likely candidates. Gennie took a step forward.

Someone bumped her, and Gennie stumbled. A man of middle age and poor taste in suits caught her and, with a modicum of movement, righted her.

“I’m terribly sorry,” she said as she adjusted the ribbon on her hat.

He offered neither a response nor a moment more of his time. He merely tipped his tattered cap and disappeared into the crowd. A moment later, she realized her reticule had gone with him.

Shrieking like a banshee did not come naturally to Gennie, but
shriek she did as she pressed through the crowd in the direction of the thief. The crisp air burned her lungs, as did the unaccustomed shouting, but the noise did its job as travelers parted to allow her a wide berth.

Spotting the tattered cap ahead, Gennie did the unthinkable and lifted her skirts to give chase. The wide berth became wider, and stunned faces gave way to a few smiles. And then she saw him, the scalawag who dared rob her of the last thing she’d brought from New York other than herself.

The fellow had the audacity to turn on his heels and face her. For a brief moment, Gennie thought he might have found his conscience, but then he laughed and darted away.

“You there,” she called, her temper as fiery as the burning in her lungs, “I’ll not lose my reticule to a thief !”

At the word
thief
, things around her changed.

A menacing fellow of larger-than-average size caught up to her. “Did you say ‘thief’?”

She nodded and pointed, another breach of her mother’s strict rules of politeness. “Him,” she managed as the last of the air escaped her lungs.

“Get ’im, boys,” Gennie heard as spots danced before her eyes.

Just like a scene from one of Mae Winslow’s adventures, a collection of buckskin-clad men with weapons slung over broad shoulders swarmed the man in the tattered hat. Before she could blink twice, the criminal hung between two sets of strong arms and was being carried toward the street.

A third man, oddly dressed in some sort of jumbled military costume, parted company with them to present her with the reticule. “This yours?” he asked.

Gennie snatched it from his outstretched arms, her breath returning in gasps as she doubled over. “Thank you,” she managed as she held the bag to her chest.

“The air’s a mite thin here,” the man said, “so take care that you don’t become winded. And guard your personal items. There are scoundrels about.”

Gennie peered up, intent on a sarcastic retort, until she saw his sincere expression. “Thank you,” she repeated. A lad sidled up to the old man. “Well, hello there,” Gennie said.

The boy eyed her from beneath his tweed cap, then skittered behind the uniform-clad man.

“Charlie’s a bit shy,” the man offered, “and also in trouble for not staying in the buggy.”

Gennie suppressed a smile when Charlie, who couldn’t have been a day over eleven, peered around the man’s coattails, eyes wide.

“That’s a lovely bag, miss.”

She smiled down at the little fellow. “Why, thank you.”

“Might I have a look at it?”

With a nod, Gennie complied, then turned her attention to the elderly soldier. “Perhaps you might assist me,” she said. “I’ve a fellow to find by the name of—”

“Here, miss.”

The lad thrust the reticule toward her. Gennie accepted it with a smile. “Thank you.” She tightened the sash and slipped it over her wrist.

“Interruptin’ your elders is rude,” the old soldier said, pointing at the lad. “Apologize.”

The boy turned wide eyes toward the older man.

“Don’t try that face on me. It might work on your pa, but I’m onto your antics.” The man swung his attention back to Gennie. “Forgive
the child’s misbehavior, please, and ’scuse us, miss. We’re meetin’ someone and likely she’s wondering where we are.”

“Yes, of course. As am I, actually,” Gennie said, “though I’m at a loss as to what he looks like.”

“Is that right?” He pressed his cap back off his forehead, revealing a mass of iron gray curls. “I fear we’re in the same boat.”

“Say, I wonder if you might tell me where a lady of quality could find lodging.” The boy snickered. Gennie ignored him. “I fear I’ll not find the party and be left in the station.”

The man looked much more sympathetic than the child. “Yes’m,” he said, “we got a fine new hotel called the Windsor. Just opened some two weeks ago over at Larimer and Eighteenth. Quite a fancy place, with a pharmacy and all sorts of things.” He paused and seemed to have trouble keeping his smile under control. “Even if Mr. Duff’s a friend of ours, I reckon it’s more than fit for a lady of quality.”

“The Windsor at Larimer and Eighteenth.” She reached out to shake his hand. “Thank you. Best of luck to you.”

“Hold tight to that bag, now, miss,” the old fellow said. He snagged one of the child’s overall straps before turning to walk away. “Off with you, Charlie. I’ll not hear of any further disobedience, else I’ll have to tell your pa.” His words blended into the hum of voices and the rumble of train engines that filled the busy station.

Their departure, odd as the pair was, made Gennie feel instantly alone in the crowd. Shaking off the silly feeling, she once again looked for a man who might be seeking his daughter’s governess. While she searched, she also began to plan her speech. Once found, Mr. Beck would have to be informed of the temporary nature of her employment.

A porter rushed past, pushing a cart overloaded with luggage, reminding Gennie of her lack thereof. She sighed and aimed her steps
away from the train tracks, her reticule safely dangling from her wrist. At least she still had it and the traveling money she’d tucked inside.

It wasn’t much, but surely the funds would purchase a serviceable wardrobe for her visit to the Wild West. Perhaps she’d find a store selling buckskin clothing in her size.

Wouldn’t Chandler Dodd be surprised if she returned from what he thought was a trip to Boston outfitted for a home on the range? The corners of her lips tilted into a smile. Perhaps she’d purchase a set for Mr. Dodd as well.

The idea of him dressed in buckskins astride a racing pony caused her heart to flutter. Indeed, a full set of western gear might be in order for a wedding gift.

Who am I kidding? Chandler Dodd would think me a lunatic if I offered such a gift.

“A pity,” she whispered as her mind returned to the kiss and the banker who’d surprised her with it.

Something small and swift collided with her. She felt a tug at her wrist, and her reticule slipped away.

The child.

Gennie lunged for the urchin and snagged an overall strap, hauling the criminal backward. Wide eyes regarded her with either fear or frustration.

“So that’s how it is,” Gennie said. “You’re in this together. I should have known.”

Ignoring the child’s protests, Gennie retrieved her reticule and tightened her grip on his strap. A quick shake of the handbag told her it was empty.

“My money,” she demanded, but the child only stared. “Now, or else I’ll be forced to call the authorities.”

That caused only the slightest reaction, and even then, Gennie
wasn’t certain she hadn’t imagined it. Then she realized the criminal might not have her money, not if the child didn’t act alone.

It only took her a moment to spy the odd, gray-haired fellow. He watched them with great interest.

“You there.” She pointed at him. “There is nothing worse than using a child to commit a crime.” Gennie glanced over her shoulder and found a porter. “I demand you hold these two until the authorities arrive. I believe you will find on their persons ample proof.”

“What in tarnation are you talking about?” The older man looked past her, likely to signal his accomplice.

“You, sir,” she repeated, “are a thief who has stolen from the wrong woman. I demand you return my money, or I shall be forced to prosecute.”

He knelt on popping bones and met the little criminal eye to eye. “Got anything to say to the lady, Charlie?” When there was no response, he rose with obvious difficulty and turned his attention to Gennie. “I reckon you ought to go ahead and call the law, then. You’ve gone and caught her red-handed.” The old man placed his palm square between the child’s shoulders and gave a nudge toward Gennie. “I believe if you’ll check, you’ll find whatever you lost in the front pocket of her overalls. That’s usually where she hides her ill-gotten gains.”

Her? Charlie was a girl? Big crocodile tears started to fall as the child protested her innocence. When that didn’t work on either Gennie or her guardian, she reached into her pocket and extracted a wad of bills, then slowly held out her hand.

Gennie returned the money to her reticule, then reached into her coat to pull out her handkerchief. After she finished dabbing the girl’s tears, she thrust the damp cloth into her fist. “Likely you’ll need this when your father is informed.” She glanced up at the old man. “Unless, of course, you’re the child’s father.”

“Me?” He shook his head. “Hardly. I’m the…” He paused. “I’m Elias.” Elias reached out to shake Gennie’s hand. “I see to things when the imp’s pa ain’t home.”

“And right now he ain’t home,” Charlie said, her voice much less brazen than before.

Gennie glanced at the porter once more, giving him a nod of dismissal, then returned her attention to the older man. She’d done as she hoped and retrieved her missing money, but perhaps a stern reprimand from the child’s father would prevent the girl from further stealing. Or, Gennie decided, perhaps she should have a conversation with him herself.

“All right,” she said, “I’m willing to forgive this act of theft, but only if I am given the name of this child’s parents so I might have a conversation with them.”

“Him, ma’am,” Elias said. “It’s just her pa still living.”

Practically an orphan. Gennie squared her shoulders. Pity would do the child no good. “All right, her father. I’ll have his name and address.”

Elias nodded. “That’d be Daniel Beck.”

Gennie froze. “Did you say ‘Daniel Beck’?”

As witnessed by his lax supervision of Mae, One-Eyed Ed wasn’t the smartest outlaw on the trail. Thus far, however, he’d been one of the luckiest. With all the stages plying the east-west and north-south lines, Ed had rarely come across one that wasn’t worth the trouble of stopping to steal whatever was aboard.

Mae lay in wait. When Ed made his move, she would be ready.

The plains stretched endlessly in all directions. To the north lay the Indian lands with their own dangers. East meant civilization and dear Henry, who she hoped still waited in Deadwood for her to come to her senses and take him up on his offer of marriage.

And marry she would—someday. Today she’d not be allowed that luxury. With One-Eyed Ed on the prowl, none were safe. And for all those on the right side of the law who’d tried and failed to take the reward that his capture would bring, there were a dozen more still trying.

Mae would never quit trying.

Leadville

“Hiram, I need to see you, please.”

Daniel stepped back to let his right-hand man through the door, then closed it, trading the smell of smoke and cheap liquor for the heavy odor of tobacco that hadn’t left with the room’s previous occupant.
While taking an office next door to one of Leadville’s many drinking establishments was not his first choice, neither was being choosy. With his time divided between Denver and Leadville, he preferred to leave the mine boss at the site and take his work into town. It was as much a matter of security in these poststrike days as a matter of convenience, since the bulk of his time was spent outside the mine shafts and inside offices, boardrooms, and the occasional opera hall or ballroom.

In the three years since he’d come to think of the small mining town as a second home, the population had burst the bounds of available accommodation, leaving little for decent office space. With stories plastered in papers from the East Coast to the West of miners turning grubstakes into fortunes, Leadville had become known as the place where a man could arrive with nothing and leave a king.