The Rose Legacy (29 page)

She shook her head. “Norman Crawford?”

“He had a room at Mae’s. I thought you knew.”

A quiver ran up her spine. The man who fell and broke his neck, whose bed she’d changed that day with Mae, whose bed Joe Turner now slept in …

“He traced a forged deed back to Beck, tried to find justice through the law. When that failed, he spoke out for vigilante action against the roughs. Had to be silenced before the idea caught on.”

She didn’t want to ask the next question but had to. “And William Evans?”

Quillan’s arms tightened as he gripped the halter rope. “I don’t think Beck dirtied his own hands.”

Her breath was coming in short bursts. “But you think he ordered it?” She recalled Beck’s curt words to Carruther and Carruther’s immediate response.

“I don’t know what’s behind Evans’ death. If it was meant to send a message to others, then I’d wager long odds Beck’s involved.”

She trembled. “Why are you telling me this?”

He reined in and turned her to face him. “I’m hoping you’ll help me.”

Help him? Hadn’t Berkley Beck said the same? Which of them spoke truth? Whom could she trust?

“Unless, of course, you still think Beck’s the golden boy he pretends to be.”

She recalled Berkley Beck’s hand coiling her hair, his dark innuendoes. “I’m not deceived.”

“Then why do you stay with him?” He seemed honestly curious.

She sighed. “I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

The words came with difficulty. “For Flavio.”

Quillan slid the back of his fingers over the side of his jaw. “The one who doesn’t care?”

She dropped her gaze, ashamed to have told so much. Why did she blurt things she didn’t admit even to herself whenever Quillan held her with his eyes? “He may still.”

“And until then, Beck pays your keep.”

He made it sound cheap, dishonest. “He employs me in his office.” She flushed.

His laugh came readily. “Don’t worry. I mistook you that first time, but I’ve realized my mistake.”

“That first …” Her sudden fury burned. “That was why you wouldn’t help? Why you sent my wagon …”

“I sent your wagon down to clear the road. There was no other way.”

The tears that sprang to her eyes angered her, but they seemed to soften him, the lines of his face losing their edge, the brows drawing together.

His voice thickened. “I wish I’d come on you with an empty wagon.” He released her and started Jock again.

She swallowed the tears. It was as close to an apology as she would get. Her shoulder throbbed, sending shards of pain through her arm and down her back. She felt drained and weary but held herself stiffly, so as not to rest against him. Even so, with the motion of the horse they brushed, a constant reminder of his presence. As though she could forget.

He cleared his throat. “About Berkley Beck, will you keep your eyes open?”

“I’ve seen nothing that—” Jock stumbled and she slipped to the side.

Quillan caught her, his arm tight around her waist, and firmly reseated her. “You best sit tight to me over this rough ground. It’s a little late for appearances.”

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind. Now about Mr. Beck, I’m just asking you to keep your eyes open. Whom does he see? What do they say? There might be something you missed while having your hand kissed.”

“
Omaccio
.”

His laugh deepened. “I don’t want to know.”

“Cad.”

“I guess I deserved that. Seriously, Carina … Miss DiGratia …”

“It’s foolish now to stop.” And somehow she didn’t want him to. As Mr. Beck said, calling her Miss DiGratia put such distance between them.

“All right, then, Carina. If you should see or hear anything besides land disputes, those beyond Beck’s own devising, will you tell me?”

She considered carefully. Out of fear, she had promised to help Mr. Beck. How was she less fearful now of the man Beck had accused? If what Mr. Beck said was true, she was in the arms of a ruthless killer. But if what Quillan said was true … Could she truly play both sides? “
If
there is anything to notice, I’ll tell you.”

They broke out of the trees, and she realized he had so held her attention that they had reached the gulch floor without her once feeling the dizziness of the steep decline. At the same moment, she caught her breath and stared. Where was Placerville?

Cain sat on the stump outside Mae’s, where he’d landed with D.C.’s help, his arm bandaged and his belly full of hot cakes. He raised a hand to Doc Felden as the man jumped down from the door to the ground where Mae’s porch used to be.

The doctor adjusted his spectacles after his jump. “How’s the arm?”

“Hurts like the dickens. Guess that means I’m still alive.”

The doctor smiled and passed by, striding swiftly on to his other charges, going to and fro between the infirmaries with the vigor of a man of younger years. Just like Quillan—always on the move.

And where was Quillan anyhow? Most the town owed him a big thank-you. The minutes he’d given them with his alarm had saved plenty of lives, folks scrambling up the mountain before the flood waters could carry them away.

Cain shook his head. He’d be plucking a harp right now if it weren’t for Quillan rushing in and carrying him off like a baby. D.C., too, maybe. Most of the dead had been men tangled up in their tents, unable to break free. Thirty-one mounds had been added to the graveyard, and there were still some missing.

Quillan, for one. Cain frowned. Where’d he gone off to? No one had seen him since the flood, since he’d carried this old bag of bones to the safety and comfort of Mae’s bed. And plenty had looked to shake his hand and thanky-kindly if he’d been anywheres around. Of course, it was like Quillan to avoid all that.

Squinting up the gulch, Cain made out a black horse that might be Quillan’s Jock or Jack. At that distance he couldn’t tell them apart. But he was fairly certain it was one or the other, and it was carrying double—Quillan and a lady, her long black hair flying out in the breeze like a sail.

“Hee-hee!” Cain cackled. Quillan had snagged himself the DiGratia woman, probably plucked her from some hidey-hole like a hero from the storybooks. And he looked the part, all straight and dour. Was it pleasure or duty that had her in his saddle? Though on second look there was no saddle, and their expressions were a little rough around the edges.

Quillan reined in. “Mornin’, Cain. Where’s the doctor?”

“Just moseyed down to the hotel infirmary. He’ll be back, though. He’s flittin’ back and forth like a bee what can’t choose his poison.”

Quillan jumped down from Jock—it was Jock, Cain saw now—and lifted Miss DiGratia down. She stifled a cry, cradling her arm.

“She hurt?” Cain motioned with his own bandaged arm.

“Dislocated shoulder.” Quillan steadied her at the elbow and eyed the front door four feet off the ground where the hill had washed away.

“Try the back.” Cain grinned. “It’s still connected to earth.”

Quillan’s leg had stiffened, riding down. He tried not to limp as he walked Carina to the back door. He felt awkward already, all too aware of the gleam in Cain’s eye and exactly what it meant. And Cain wasn’t the only one who had eyed them riding in. Thankfully the disarray of the city would keep most folks minding their own affairs.

And now that he had time to think of it, his affairs would keep him busy, too. Seeing Crystal in the daylight recalled to him his loss. His equipment, his tent, likely his wagon and possibly his team. It would be some time before he was back on the road.

Carina looked stunned and shaken. He guessed not having seen the flood in action, she could hardly fathom the damage in its wake. At the sight of Placer washed away she’d been full of questions and her own descriptions of the wall of water she’d escaped, but seeing Crystal half demolished had left her speechless.

“Let Mae know you need the doctor.” He pushed open the door for her. “I’ll see you Friday.”

She was too tired or too dazed to get his meaning, and she only stared up at him, the brown of her eyes like strong coffee.

“I expect your offer’s still good?”

“My offer?” She searched his face.

“Don’t want that cheese too blue, do we?”

Her eyes registered cognition and a little alarm. But he couldn’t back out now that he was close to getting what he needed. “I’m afraid there might not be apples, though. I doubt I have a wagon left to haul them in.”

Turning before she could speak, Quillan left her. Jock needed grain, but whether or not there was grain to be had, he didn’t know. And what would he use to pay for it? His savings, his very future, was buried under mud and water or already washed away. He growled a word under his breath. So much for affliction staying away.

He should have known. What sort of fool keeps his savings in a hole? He passed the bank, solid and unscathed, standing as an island amidst the destruction. All of Crystal’s residents who had their money there were secure. But he? No, he didn’t trust the banks, and with good reason.

Another bitter thought to chew on. His own youthful stupidity. His need to be accepted, a fourteen-year-old’s understanding of loyalty, a wild streak run amok. And a pardon that didn’t undo the deed. He’d stood before the judge with wide-eyed terror, caught red-handed in a robbery he hadn’t known was happening, his “friend” having left him to take the blame.

By some miracle, the judge had seen it for what it was and canceled the warrant, issuing a pardon that resolved him of legal responsibility. Reverend Shepard hadn’t been so forgiving. But then it did rather blight his reputation to have his ward in such a spot. So Quillan had left home for good, but not without learning a powerful lesson.

He shook his head. It had been too easy for Shane Dennison to clean out that bank. And since then Quillan had trusted his own means of securing his future. He looked over the swollen creek bed shrinking now innocuously, leaving tons of mud and gravel where the tent city had stood. A new lesson. Nothing was forever.

He blew out a disgusted breath. A rope corral had been stretched alongside the creek and horses gathered into it. As Quillan neared, he searched the herd, hopeful in spite of himself. His eyes brightened. Jack! The first stroke of luck this morning. Now if it just continued.

Carina stood in the doorway where Quillan left her. It was too much, the old buildings of Placerville washed away and half of Crystal as well. What if she had not made it to the mine? The Rose Legacy had saved her.

“Upon my life, I thought you were gone.”

Carina spun at Mae’s words, looked into the violet eyes unusually deep and moved. Gone. How close she had come to it! Did Mae care? Would anyone have missed her, mourned her? Tears sprang to her eyes, and when Mae spread her arms, Carina rushed to her embrace. Overwhelmed, she buried her face against Mae’s neck, ignoring the shooting pain from her shoulder.

Mae rocked her, crooning, “There, there. There, now.”

Carina sniffled, warmed and soothed by Mae’s voice and arms.

“You’re safe now.” Mae smoothed her palm over Carina’s hair, stroking, stroking. “Did Quillan fetch you down?”

Carina nodded, her face still pressed to Mae’s neck. Then she pulled away, the pain in her shoulder finally more than she could stand.

Mae cupped Carina’s face. “What is it? Are you injured?”

Carina reached to the throbbing joint. “My shoulder.
Non c’è nulla di grave
.” At Mae’s questioning frown, Carina realized she had slipped once again into the language of her youth. What was wrong with her? “There’s nothing much the matter. A dislocation only.”

“I’ll draw you a bath. And we’ll have the doctor up directly.”

Soaking in the large metal tub filled with warm, scented water, Carina closed her eyes and pictured the spring gushing from the rock and soaking her with its icy force. Though shockingly cold, it had also been invigorating, stripping away the grime and blood and leaving her skin tingling and fresh.

This was different, soothing the aches and dulling her thoughts. She drifted, and it was Flavio at the top of the shaft, his face twisted with fear as he called down to her.
How could you go so far? I can’t reach you. Why
, tesora mia,
my darling? Why?
And she had no answer, because every time she tried to speak, his face became Quillan’s and she would have to tell the truth.