Claim: A Novel of Colorado (The Homeward Trilogy) (10 page)

Mr. Dell let out a small, scoffing laugh and threw up his hands. “But of course. If we did not hope for that, we would not be here at all.”

“Of course,” Nic repeated, nodding in a friendly way. He lifted one hand. “But given that you
do
hope for that, if you truly hope for that, the only fair thing would be to give Mrs. LaCrosse the same terms as you have given me.”

Mr. Kazin and Mr. Dell exchanged another short, alarmed glance, and both began to voice their retorts at the same time. Mr. Hohn tried to interrupt, tried to soothe the matter, but they ignored him.

Nic waited them out, not looking at them, but only at Sabine. There was something about Nic’s presence that both made her heart beat faster and calmed her at the same time. He let a small smile curl up the corners of his mouth as the two businessmen rattled on. Finally they were silent. Nic looked Mr. Kazin’s way.

“We cannot do it,” Mr. Kazin said, flushing at the neck. “It simply isn’t done that way!”

Nic looked to Mr. Dell.

“Perhaps you are too new here, Mr. St. Clair,” he said as he glanced Sabine’s way. “Mrs. LaCrosse knows how it is.” His mouth opened and closed, as if he were considering words, then swallowing them, then trying again. “Not only is Mrs. LaCrosse’s land …
unverified
, but she is not in the same
position
as others to negotiate.”

Nic’s brow lowered and all trace of his smile disappeared. Sabine watched him, allowing him to rise to her defense, feeling his protection wrap around her shoulders like warm, supple leather.

He placed his hands on the table in a wide
Y
fashion, fingers splayed, and stared down at the wood between them for a long moment. Then he looked at each man. “I guess you face a puzzling situation, gentlemen. You know for a fact that the Vaughn mine carries a wealth of gold.…” He paused, allowing his words to settle like a hook in a fish’s jaw. “But you won’t see an ounce of it if you don’t deal fairly with the lady. She gets the same deal as me and Ev or there’s no deal at all.”

Mr. Dell stared at him, frozen, caught. “Everyone knows that a woman can’t expect the same as a man. If Mr. LaCrosse were here—”

“But he’s not. And he’s been declared dead. Right?” He looked quickly to Sabine, as if worried that they should have discussed the matter before, and then he visibly relaxed as she nodded. “So Sabine is the rightful owner.”

“But, Mr. St. Clair, it is not only the matter of Mrs. LaCrosse being
female
,” Mr. Kazin tried.

“No? What else?” He lifted a brow. “Is it that she is a teacher? Are teachers not allowed the maximum value on their property either?”

Sabine tried to keep her head up. He knew what they were saying. They all knew what the men were trying to say. She didn’t have the right to the full value of her land because she was—

Mr. Kazin cleared his throat and lifted his head high. “Mrs. LaCrosse is of mixed blood. There are some that would insist she go to a reservation. That is where people of her descent are allowed to own land. Nowhere else—”

Nic shoved his chair back and stood, then walked around the table and picked up Sabine’s hat and handed it to her. “I believe we must decline your offer, gentlemen. We came here believing you intended to deal with us in good faith.”

Sabine swiftly drove two hatpins into her hair and rose.

Mr. Kazin and Mr. Dell both rose with her. “Wait,” Mr. Dell said, a placating expression on his face. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding?” Nic said, retrieving his hat from a peg by the door. “What, that you intend to dishonestly purchase land? Mrs. LaCrosse owns her land as clearly as I do. We’re done here.” He turned his back to them, one hand coming to her lower back as the other reached for the knob.

“Sixty thousand,” Mr. Kazin said.

Nic froze and then smiled at her victoriously, but Sabine was a mass of nerves, sick to her stomach. All she wanted was
out
. Nic’s small smile faded.

“For each of you,” Mr. Kazin added.

Nic shot her another look, begging her with his eyes to consider the offer.

But she couldn’t. Not now. Everything in her told her to get out. Escape.

Nic sighed, then he turned his head and looked at the men. “We will confer and get back to you tomorrow.”

“No. If you leave this office, the offer is rescinded,” Mr. Kazin said, punctuating his sentence with a sniff.

Nic raised alarmed eyes to meet hers.
He means it,
his eyes said.

Sabine shook her head again. The room was closing in on her. All she wanted was to get home to her cabin. How had she ever thought she could leave it?

But still Nic hesitated.

“Let’s go,” she muttered, reaching for the knob herself, unwilling to stand here a second longer.

“Mr. St. Clair,” said Mr. Dell. “Perhaps we might have a word with you alone.”

“Sorry,” Nic said, placing his hat on his head in the open doorway as Sabine rushed to untie her horse. “We’re a team. If you don’t convince both of us, you’re out of luck.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Nic’s tone, as he exited the law office, had been full of bravado and confidence, but as they left, he seethed with fury at Sabine. They made their way to the stables in silence and picked up his horse and found Everett. Then they rode down Main Street and took the path up the mountain. Why had she not taken the deal? It was more than what they had hoped for!

“Will you slow down a little, Sabine?” he called out to her, when they were well out of earshot of anyone in town. Daisy was slower than Sabine’s mare, which was carrying far less weight up the Gulch. She pulled up on the reins but did not turn. Nic wished Everett weren’t here, but he supposed the boy had as much right to hear this as he did.

In a couple of minutes they were side by side on the path. Nic took off his hat, wiped the sweat off his upper lip with the back of his wrist, and then looked over at her. “What was that about?”

She sniffed. “I thought you said we weren’t going to agree to a deal today, no matter what.”

“They offered us sixty thousand dollars, Sabine.”

“Sixty thousand?” Everett said.

“Sixty thousand
each
,” Nic went on. “I never thought they’d go that high.”

“The offer will be there tomorrow if we want it.”

“No. He said if we walked out the door it was rescinded. And he meant it.” He sighed and put his hat on his head, slowly straightening the brim. “Don’t you see? It’s how men negotiate such things. The gamble. That was what I was trying to tell you—we had to take it then or we weren’t going to get it again.”

“Yes, well, I decided I didn’t want it.”

She spurred her mare forward, but Nic stayed with her this time. “Can I talk to you a minute? Alone?”

She grimaced but then dismounted and headed toward some trees, leading her horse.

“We’re almost to the cabin,” Nic said to Everett, also dismounting and holding the horse as the boy moved into the saddle. “You go on up. I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

The boy reluctantly continued toward the cabin, and Nic turned to follow the faint trail that led to towering, thick aspens in heavy leaf. Sabine looped her horse’s reins over a branch and reached up to unpin her hat and hair, running her fingers through it as if it was a relief to feel it fall across her shoulders. Nic paused for half a step, savoring her beauty. All at once he could see her an Indian maiden, in a buttery soft leather dress, rather than her severe Western dress, all corset and stays.

She was exotic. Enticing. And completely aggravating. He steeled himself as he strode forward.

“You realize that this is Everett’s chance at a future,” he said. “A life outside of this mountain town. An education.”

“You realize,” she mimicked, “that maybe
this is
Everett’s best future. Staying here with you. With me around the corner. Fresh air. Mountains.” She paused and looked out toward the valley and beyond, then back to him. “You think God had you here by accident when the boy lost his father?”

“You think God orchestrated all of this?” he scoffed. “If you only knew how I’ve handled fortunes before, you’d know that God would avoid entrusting me with another. Let alone a
child
. I am hardly the sort that anyone would choose to father his son.”

She paused for a moment. “I think,” she said softly, “you’d make a perfectly decent father.”

He was taken aback by the abrupt turn of tone, and he studied her big brown eyes, so intently meeting his own gaze. Her lashes were thick and long, as if they’d been plucked from the coat of a minx. “You can’t possibly mean that, Sabine. You hardly know me.”

“I know,” she said, laying a small, soft hand on his chest—did she feel his heart thumping wildly beneath it?—“I know enough.”

He stared at her, longing to kiss her, but his mind was trying to pick up the tail of their argument. He was angry with her, right? What had he been about to say? “Sabine, I—”

“I have to go,” she said, pulling her hand away, leaving a cold spot on his chest where it had been. She raised a boot to her stirrup, then easily lifted herself up and into a sitting position. She squeezed her mare’s flanks and the horse walked down the path.

“Where are you going?” Nic called after her.

“It’s an old Indian trail,” she said over her shoulder. “Leads to my place.”

“Sabine!”

She pulled up on her reins as if she regretted it already, and turned to look back at him.

“Will you at least come over tonight? For some supper? So we can—”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He called her name again, but she ignored him as she pushed her horse through the huge grove of old aspens, disappearing among the trees. Nic sighed. He fought off the desire to take the path behind her, catch up with her, and force her to see his way of things, and instead he turned and trudged up the hill to the Vaughn cabin.

Everett was outside, splitting kindling with a small ax.

He reached for a bigger one, centered a log on top of another, and then, measuring the distance with his eye, arced around and slammed into it, dead center.

“That woman has been on her own too long,” he muttered.

“I know,” Everett said. “My dad used to say the same thing.”

They chopped wood in silence for a while. Then Everett said, “You were pretty mad at Sabine?”

“Still am, I think. She lost us a lot of money.”

They continued to chop again.

“She a good teacher, Ev?”

“Yeah, I suppose. Never had ’nother.”

Nic glanced down the Gulch to the tops of the towering grove of aspens, wishing he could see her one more time.

What was he supposed to do now? Mine all winter? Alone? And for what?

o

They didn’t go down in the mine that afternoon. Nic was in no mood for a pickax and shovel and pail and being caked with dirt in every wrinkle and crevice. He paced back and forth between the cabin and the creek for a while and started for Sabine’s several times but came to a stop each time.

The woman wanted to be alone.

Far be it from him to intrude.

He paced to the creek again. He hadn’t felt this kind of frustration since … the ship. Since he launched into that taunting, nasty sailor and found himself strapped to the main mast and whipped. Since then, he’d been able to find avenues of release, or ways around the anger that would work him up. He didn’t want to hurt Sabine—he’d never want to hurt her—but as the afternoon wore on, he was so wound up inside he couldn’t stay still. He was like a toy his father had once given him; he’d wrapped a string round and round and when he pulled it, the toy spun away across the floor, vertical but whirling.

Nic reached the bathtub by the creek and stood there with one boot on the side wall, only half seeing the water rush by. Remembering how his mother used to calm him by making him splash his face with cold water ten times, he flipped the creek-side wall into place, trapping the water inside. He yanked off his boots and hat, trousers and shirt, and jumped into the cold bath, underwear and all. The cold made him gasp, but he allowed himself to stay under for a moment, feeling the icy water chill away the heat of his frustration. He emerged and took a gulp of air, letting out a small cry then. His skin was a mass of gooseflesh.

He forced himself to remain in water up to his armpits and looked up to the trees that waved in the wind, giving him glimpses of the blue sky above, then hiding it. Why was it that he had to think this through, again and again? What was driving him? Forcing him to the edge of fury?

He thought back to the meeting. The banter. The offer. Turning his back, walking out that door, getting more frustrated and angry by the moment.

Then that moment by the grove, when she made him feel like he was spinning again, half drawn to her, half furious with her, confusing him, more than he had ever been before by a woman.

Control.

He wanted to control it. Decisions. Money. Sabine. Everett. His future. His life itself.

But he could not do so.

Nic sighed, cupped his hands in the water, and splashed and rubbed his face several times. He wanted to stay there, in the water, thinking it through, but he was too cold. His teeth chattered. If he stayed in the water much longer, he might lose his senses and never get out. On shaking legs, he stood, got a grip on the wall, and hoisted himself up. He dried off, then reached for his hat, covering his wet head from the wind before pulling on his shirt and trousers. He gingerly picked his way up the path, carrying his boots, and ignored Everett’s questioning gaze as he looked up from stirring a pot of stew, by the smell of it.

They ate in silence.

That night, for the first time in several days, Everett cried in his sleep.

Nic lay in the other cot, one arm tucked under his head, listening to him whimper and cry out in his dreams. And he felt the knot of the day’s frustration slowly rebuild.

What are You doing with me here, Lord?
he asked the wood-planked ceiling, feeling awkward about speaking to God, but knowing nowhere else to turn.

Everett’s crying turned into sobbing. Nic glanced over to him, a dim outline in the warm red light of the fireplace’s coals, then back to the ceiling.

Is Sabine right? Did You really bring me here to help this boy? Why me? I’m clearly doing him no good. Get me out. Show me the way out. Amen.

o

Sabine stared up at the ceiling of her small cabin. It was covered in yellowing newsprint, with water-spot circles from leaks in the roof she’d need to fix before much longer. Another winter of dripping might lead to bigger trouble. She’d kept the fire fed, feeling as though the night were somehow darker, lonelier. She wished Sinopa were here, solely for the feel of another person inside this place.

She let out a sound of exasperation and rolled to her side, staring at the fire. The afternoon wind had whipped into a nighttime howl, whistling through the chinking of her log walls and making the fire flicker. Among the flames, she imagined Nic, with his blue-green eyes, sandy hair, and strong chin. Today, something had shifted between them. What was that? And what had she been doing, laying a hand on his chest like that? The last thing she needed was the complication of a man in her life. Especially that man.

Sabine pulled the wool blanket higher, not really cold, just wanting to muffle the noise. She was just getting drowsy enough to sleep, when she heard an odd sound outside. Her eyes flew open.

She listened hard, trying to distinguish what she heard. Might it be Nic, come to see her, work out their differences? But Nic would’ve called out, warned her, angry though he might be.

All she could hear was wind and her pulse pounding in her ears.

There
. A horse’s hoof on stone. She was sure of it.

Sabine moved her blanket down and eyed the latch on the door. It was locked with the peg. If anyone tried to open it, she’d see the crossbar move. She glanced at the window to the left of it. The curtains were pulled shut, and it was too small for anyone to get through.

But that wouldn’t keep them from busting out the glass and pointing a rifle in her direction.

She grabbed her gun from beneath the bed along with a case of shells and scurried to the door, placing her ear against it to try to hear what was going on outside.

Pitch from a log popped in the fireplace, making her jump. She clamped her lips shut and listened again. Two or more horses. Men’s voices, in loud whispers. Nothing discernible.

They were coming after her. No one arrived at a person’s house this late in gold country without a call of greeting. Unless he wanted to risk getting his head blown off. The only reason to arrive in secrecy, under cover of darkness, was one: attack.

Her hand trembled as she pulled back the chamber and checked to make sure the rifle was loaded. She grimaced as it made the loud, familiar
ca-thunk
and cracking
clink
as it slammed back in place. But then she brought her head up.
Good. Let them know I am ready.

Fast footsteps in the gravel in front of the door warned her of a man’s approach. There was no knock. No taunting call, meant to instill fear. Just a full body slam against the door, making it tremble and even crack in one spot.

Sabine glanced up in startled surprise as a man in a black hood stared through the crack.

She scrambled away as he reached through the hole, grasping at her as another pounded out the glass of her window with the butt of his rifle.

She aimed at the hole in the door as the man withdrew his hand, and when he pounded against it a second later, she fired.

o

Nic sat up straight in his bed when he heard the echoing retort of a rifle shot.

He cocked his head, listening for a second, but there was no more. He dashed out of bed, yanking on his trousers, then his boots. He threw a log on the fire. Everett was asleep now, no longer dreaming. He’d be scared all alone, but there was nothing to be done about it. He had to wake him up.

“Everett!” Nic pulled on a jacket and reached for a gun. “Ev!”