Brighter than Gold (Western Rebels Book 1)

BRIGHTER THAN GOLD

Western Rebels, Book 1

Cynthia Wright

“BRIGHTER THAN GOLD is an irresistible disguise and deception romance!”

~
Kathe Robin,
RT Book Reviews

In 1864 Columbia, California, the gold rush is over. Spirited Katie MacKenzie helps her father run a saloon and writes articles for the local newspaper about the Griffin, a Robin Hood-style highwayman who robs the unscrupulous mine owners and gives back to the townspeople.

Roguish Jack Adams, an adventurer with a dark secret, rides into the sleepy Sierra town one summer day and changes everything.

A powerful attraction smolders and burns between Jack and Katie despite their efforts to resist, but when a tragic death occurs during one of the Griffin’s stagecoach robberies, Katie is haunted by thoughts of revenge.

Can Jack reconcile his life in Columbia with his surprising true identity in San Francisco… and will this couple find their way to happiness in spite of the dangerous secrets that separate them? Journey back to Civil War-era California with Jack, Katie, and historical characters like Samuel Clemens for a passionate & adventurous romance that will keep you turning the pages to the very end!

~ Dedication ~

For Alvaro,

the husband of my dreams…

Part One

Chapter 1

Columbia, California

June 21, 1864

Riding slowly down Main Street, the man on horseback reflected that the sleepy town of Columbia had certainly known better days. A dozen years ago, it had been heralded as the “Gem of the Southern Mines,” the largest and most prosperous of all the towns that had sprung up during the rush for gold in the Sierra foothills. More than fifteen thousand boisterous people had lived here, making and spending fortunes in Columbia’s thriving gambling palaces, saloons, fandango halls, theaters, restaurants, and bawdy houses. Stores were stocked with merchandise delivered by a constant stream of freight wagons from Stockton. Stagecoaches rumbled down Main Street morning and afternoon, dislodging a colorful variety of eager newcomers, including a French chef who charged outrageous sums of money for gourmet meals and imported champagne. The town’s four theaters had hosted Edwin Booth, Lola Montez, and circuses with elephants and lions. Columbia even had a Chinese theater for the particular benefit of its immigrant citizenry.

In the town’s first decade, more than $87 million worth of gold had been discovered in its diggings. The scales at the Wells Fargo office weighed an average of $100,000 of gold a week, and in the heady decade of the 1850s, it seemed that the supply would never run out.

However, those days of unrivaled prosperity had passed.

On this dusty afternoon, the man on horseback rode into a town of fewer than five hundred people. Tucked behind hills that staggered down to the dramatically beautiful Stanislaus River, Columbia had acquired a haunting serenity lacking in its heyday. Delicate trees of heaven lined Main Street, and many of the homes were embowered with climbing roses in full bloom. The clamor was over, yet the traveler felt a surge of respect and fondness for this tenacious community. It had had its share of challenges, but it simply refused to die, adapting instead to change.

Farther ahead down Main Street, the traveler spied MacKenzie’s Saloon. Hot, tired, and in need of friendly conversation, he decided to stop for refreshment.

* * *

At the far end of the polished mahogany bar, Katie MacKenzie was perched on a stool, drying glasses and reading
Jane Eyre
at the same time. It was a quiet afternoon. The shafts of sunlight that streamed into MacKenzie’s Saloon were mellow and golden, scented with roses. The corner tavern was large, with a magnificent carved mirror behind the bar and numerous tables ringed with chairs. Once upon a time, MacKenzie’s had echoed with the laughter and raucous conversation of men from all walks of life. Now, the place was an ornate mockery of a golden age long since passed. Katie looked up to see two lone, grimy miners, clad in red shirts and dungarees, who slouched at a distant table, dozing before their empty bottle. Farther down the bar, Brian MacKenzie poured a whiskey for his third patron, then approached his daughter.

“I’m thinking this is a fine way for you to celebrate your twentieth birthday,” he murmured, his ruddy face and curly white hair reflected in the twenty-foot mirror behind them.

Katie gave him a sweet smile. “Nonsense, Papa! You sent all the way to Boston for this book and you gave me these beautiful flowers.” Lovingly she fingered the vivid bouquet of blue larkspur and orange Humboldt lilies that filled a vase at her elbow. “It’s a perfect birthday!”

Brian wrapped her in his bearlike embrace and smiled. “You’re a blessing, Kathleen Elizabeth. Why don’t you put away the towel and glasses and go outside? It’s not a day for chores.”

“I’m fine, Papa.” Already her attention was wandering back to
Jane Eyre.

Sighing, Brian studied his daughter’s profile. It was almost a shock to realize, daily, how beautiful she had become and how much Katie resembled her mother who had died eight years before. She had inherited Mary’s lustrous ebony curls, her striking deep blue eyes, her delicate features, and radiant smile.

However, Katie’s temperament mirrored his own. If only Mary had lived to teach their daughter ladylike ways! Growing up in the rugged atmosphere of a mining town, Katie was used to working hard, but otherwise she dressed and behaved to please herself. Today she wore a faded rose calico dress with one petticoat, but she was just as likely to be clad in trousers and a shirt if the mood struck her. Worst of all, Katie had declared that she had no interest in marriage. And she did indeed seem to prefer helping him run the saloon or writing articles for the
Columbia Gazette.
Women were at a premium in the foothills, especially beauties like his daughter, and Brian prayed nightly that she would come to her senses one day soon and begin acting like a woman. Hadn’t he a right to grandchildren?

“Quite a romantic hero in that book, eh?” he inquired slyly. “What’s his name?”

“Edward Rochester.” Katie gave him a fond smile, familiar with his ways.

“Indeed? Why, seems to me that that name alone would be enough to turn a maiden’s thoughts to love!”

The swinging door creaked to announce the arrival of a customer and Brian trundled back to work. He squinted as the man approached the bar, then smiled broadly as recognition dawned.

“Why, it’s Jack, isn’t it! Where’ve you been these past weeks?” He set a shot glass on the bar and reached for a bottle of whiskey.

Settling onto a stool, Jack spread a tanned hand over the glass. “Save your whiskey for someone who’ll appreciate it, MacKenzie,” he said in a husky voice underlaid with ironic amusement. Surveying the dazzling array of decanters, squat vases of cigars, and jars of brandied fruit reflected in the mirror, he ventured to ask, “Do you serve water?”

“Ah, that’s right!” Brian laughed, remembering, as he poured spring water from a pitcher into a larger glass. “You don’t drink liquor. Tell me, do you belong to that Dashaway Society that’s been promoting temperance in these parts?”

Jack’s answering laughter was sufficiently roguish to make Katie look up at last. “Lord, no,” he replied. “I’ve just never seen the point in drowning what few wits I have in liquor.”

His expression and manner made it clear to Katie that Jack’s wits were far more considerable than he so modestly implied. His looks were noteworthy as well. Katie’s first thought was that he reminded her of a mountain lion. His hair, wind-ruffled and dusty, was a few shades darker than his sun-bronzed skin, and a two-day growth of beard glinted against his lean cheeks. There was something appealing about the slightly bent shape of his nose, the smile that lingered on his mouth, and the grooves on either side that hinted at dimples. She was most intrigued by his eyes, though, and wandered down the bar for a closer look.

Cat’s eyes, she decided after a few moments. A clear, sage green dusted with gold, slightly hooded, as if a bit weary of surveying the world, and framed by laugh wrinkles and sandy brows. Katie was disarmed by the sight of his roguish smile and the sound of his frank, husky laughter, but she sensed that, like the mountain lion he resembled, this man could be dangerous.

“Ah, here’s my girl,” Brian announced, wrapping an arm around her slim form. “Katie, have you met Jack Adams? He’s new to these parts. Came in here the first time just a couple months back. Jack, this is my pride and joy, my daughter Kathleen.”

Seeing the appraisal in his eyes, she put out her hand and smiled. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Adams.”

He smiled back. “The pleasure’s mine, Miss MacKenzie,” he said in his appealing, rough-edged voice. “Call me Jack.”

“I’m Katie.” As their hands met, she glanced at the surprisingly clean, well-tended nails. It was a strong hand, tanned against the faded blue shirt he wore but only slightly callused. She wondered what he had done before coming to the gold country. “Where are you from, Jack?”

He shrugged. “Nevada, lately. Placerville last week. I have my eye on a couple different claims, but can’t decide whether they’re worth working. One’s near here.”

“Just because the boom’s past and so many miners have moved on to Nevada or Canada, that doesn’t mean our gold’s gone!” Brian declared, seizing on one of his favorite topics. “A man with a bit of patience can still get rich and live a more civilized life in the bargain!”

“Columbia does look permanent these days,” Jack agreed. “Until last fall, I hadn’t been in the foothills for years. The towns were all wood and canvas when I was here in my youth; a mixture of imported luxury and make-do. A lot of them are gone now that so much of the gold’s been mined, but what’s left is more civilized.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Maybe the miners left because they missed the wild life.”

“There’s still enough wildness up here for any man,” Brian snorted. “And enough challenges. They’re destroying the land with that new hydraulic mining now!” He frowned. “As for the town looking more civilized, you know it was the fires that forced us to build brick buildings. The others kept burning down.”

“You must admit that Jack’s right, though, Papa,” Katie remarked, pouring more water into Adams’s glass. “Times
have
changed. The people who came here looking for wealth and adventure a dozen years ago have either moved on or settled in to more permanent lives. Columbia’s a different town.”

“Quieter, that much is true.” Brian sighed, gazing around the nearly deserted saloon. By evening it would begin to fill up, and the gaming table where miners gathered to play faro would turn a tidy profit. But Brian no longer expected his saloon to make him a rich man.