Crossings (44 page)

“So you don't have to pay him anymore to do your dirty work? He told me how you paid him to scare August in the holdup. But things got out of control when August tried to disarm Hanrahan, so Hanrahan fired.”

Helena's tears intruded on Carrigan's words. He hated having her hear it this way. Sitting her down in the privacy of her room would have been better, but there was no help for the turn of events. He would have held her tighter and comforted her, but he had to watch Bayard for any sudden moves.

“I never told Seaton Hanrahan to do such a thing. Whatever he did, he took it upon himself,” Bayard charged. “I can't help it if he was a petty thief.”

“That's not all he was,” Carrigan said. “He was your henchman in an effort to win Helena. Well, it didn't work. Not even when you sent Hanrahan to threaten Helena by touching her . . . kissing her,” Carrigan ground out.

Kimball attempted to fold his arms across his chest, but Carrigan yelled, “Don't move! You move once more, and I'll shoot.”

“You shoot me, Carrigan, and you'll not see the
sunset. You'd be strung up so fast, you wouldn't even feel the rope around your neck.”

Carrigan shifted Helena to stand behind him. “I want you to leave, Lena.”

Her eyes were rimmed with tears. “No . . . I can't leave you.”

“Go.”

Kimball's nostrils flared. “How touching, Helena. But you must leave.”

She shook her head. Carrigan walked backwards, taking her to the door. Once there, he fingered the knob and twisted it. Without taking his eyes off Kimball, he said, “I told Lewis to get some men together. You explain what's happening when they come. Tell them they're going to be a vigilante group. It's time the citizens of Genoa took the law into their own hands.”

Nodding, she sniffed. “But I don't want to leave you. . . .”

Disregarding her plea, he declared, “I won't shoot him. I don't want him dead. He's going to have to stand trial for what he's done to you and your family.”

“But it's your word against his,” she whispered. “He'll make everyone believe you're lying.”

“No he won't.” But Carrigan knew she had a valid point. It was his word against the judge's. Hanrahan was dead. The only witness who could prove Bayard's involvement. But the picture might be enough. And the coin. Carrigan had it in his pocket. Between the two, he would have to convince the townspeople that Kimball was behind everything. Were it not for Helena, he would have shot the man in cold blood and damned the consequences. But that she had been this man's friend at one time, that she had divulged pieces of his life to Kimball, made him important to her. Perhaps not anymore, but killing Kimball to satisfy his own taste of revenge wasn't the way to go.

“Leave, Lena. Now.”

Helena gave him a soulful look, then slipped out the door. He heard her footsteps hurrying down the weathered risers, then nothing. Shutting the door, he squared off with Kimball.

“Well, now it's just you and me and my Colt.”

“And this.” With the speed of lightning, Bayard had dipped his hand into his trouser pocket and come out with a small but lethal derringer.

*  *  *

The explosion of a gun could be heard from Main. Helena hadn't even crossed the street when the sound erupted from Bayard's office. Mr. Lewis, Mr. Mayhew, Mr. Wyatt, and a group of six other businessmen had been running down the street. Their gazes locked on the second-story window.

“Jake is in there!” she screamed. “Please, you've got to help him. Bayard . . . he had Bayard at gunpoint and . . .”

Mr. Lewis was bounding up the stairs, Helena close on his heels. When he reached the top, he crashed the door inward, and Helena practically slammed against his back. Jake was standing over Bayard, who was holding on to his arm while moaning and cursing his pain. Blood dripped from the wound in his upper arm, his fingers growing red from where he held his injury. A small gun glinted in the sun where it had been kicked toward the window.

“Lewis!” he wailed. “The bastard shot me! Get his gun!”

But J. H. Lewis didn't move. Neither did any of the other men.

“We're putting you under a citizen's arrest,” Wyatt declared. “I don't take kindly to having my mind made up for me without me knowing it's being made up.”

“What are you talking about?” Bayard asked.

“You making me think that doing business with
Mrs. Carrigan wouldn't be a good thing for Genoa. You were wrong.”

Helena felt the blood drain from her face. All the anger, frustration, and fear took hold of her until she wanted to scream at Bayard and tell him what an indecent human being he was. That he had fooled her, used her, manipulated her. Taken them all in, and done a lot of damage to a lot of people in the process.

But no more. He was going to be stopped. Because there were enough people to testify against him. From now on, he couldn't hurt anyone, anymore.

Bayard rolled to his side. “You don't know what you're talking about. Helena, don't listen to him.”

Jake still kept his gun on Bayard. “I didn't want to shoot him, Lena. I gave you my word. But he came out with that derringer, and I had no choice. I hit him in the arm to get the gun away from him.”

She felt sick and numb and cold. Nothing seemed real. It was all a horrible nightmare. She didn't blame Jake. She would have done the same thing. In fact, she probably would have killed Bayard dead.

Mr. Mayhew went toward the judge with Mr. Wyatt. “Some of you go unlock the cell downstairs and we'll put him in it.”

“If the lines are up, a message should be sent to Salt Lake City so we can notify the authorities what's happened,” Helena said.

“Helena, you don't know what you're doing!” Bayard coughed. “It's all a fabrication. Everything. You know me.”

“I don't know you.” Her voice lowered sadly. “I never did.”

*  *  *

After Judge Kimball had been removed by the delegation of business owners who had rallied together, Carrigan led Helena away. He'd taken her hand and they'd walked across the street to the store, which had yet to be opened for the day.

“Don't open,” Carrigan said as he let her pass by him through the doorway. “Not yet.”

She nodded.

Closing the door and locking it, Carrigan followed Helena to the counter, where she leaned against it with her palms pressed on the surface. “I can't believe that Bayard had this . . . and never told me.” Helena was looking at the photograph. “I hate him. Hate him for destroying what was left of my family. For taking my father, and even taking my mother by cutting the picture and probably destroying the other half. I know he did it. He was lying. Just like he lied about everything.” She lifted her gaze and looked at him. “How did you find Seaton?”

“In a saloon, quite by accident.”

“You killed him. . . .”

“It was him or me.”

Carrigan shoved his hand into his pocket and came out with the half dime. “Hanrahan had this.”

Helena took the coin and examined the initials. “Thank you.”

Leaning into the counter with his back, Carrigan put his elbows on the worn planks. A pause lengthened the silence stretching through the cramped room. Outside, the noises of civilization bore down on the quiet air, but Carrigan failed to be bothered by it. Perhaps he was coming to accept that having Helena could mean he'd have to make an adjustment. The big question was, did she still want him?

“I'm sorry. For everything.” Swallowing the ache in his throat, Carrigan said, “When you told me you loved me, did you mean it? Do you still?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I couldn't stop loving you even if I wanted to.”

“I should have told you then how I was feeling, but you guessed. I was scared. And I was running. Using what you and Kimball talked about was just an excuse. He could have found out by writing to the area sheriffs. He must have gotten lucky when he
inquired to Libertyville. That's all I can think of. But however he found out isn't important. I know you didn't betray me. You'd never do that.”

“No . . . I wouldn't.”

Carrigan pressed the heel of his boot against the underframe of the counter. “I haven't been honest with you because I haven't wanted to be honest with myself.”

Their eyes held. No more pretending he didn't care when he did. He couldn't stop himself from pulling her into his embrace and holding her tight. Helena's arms circled his neck, and her cheek met his chest. The sweet rose smell of her hair filled his lungs, the soft feel of her body made him think that a life without her wouldn't be a life at all. Christ all Jesus, he'd stay here, if that's what she wanted. He'd be with her.

“Lena  . . .”

She broke away to stare into his face. When he told her, he wanted to see her eyes. To be able to read into her soul and see if what he was feeling was mirrored there.

“Lena . . . I never thought I would want to be with a woman after Jenny. Never thought that I'd be worth a damn to anyone. So I hid. Up there on that mountain. Feeling useless . . . and alone. But with you, I found my heart again. I remembered what it was like to want to please another person . . . to be with them night and day . . . talk with them . . . smile at them . . . kiss them.” Moisture shimmered in her eyes as he lowered his mouth to her fluttering lashes and kissed away the tears. “I love you, Lena.”

Trembling, her hands fitted behind his head, and she brought his mouth to hers. The kiss was long and deep, lingering and searching. She felt his heartbeat, for his was racing with hers. Her lips were a joy to him, a new beginning. A start that would make him look beyond the horizon to a new day.

Breathing next to his mouth, she said, “I love you,
too, Jake.” She pulled back, and the reflection in her eyes was one of sorrow. “But I can't ask you to stay here. You wouldn't be happy.”

“I could be happy with you no matter where we are.”

“What about the land?”

“I don't care.”

“Yes, you do.”

Carrigan splayed his fingers over her slender back. “I wouldn't want to live there without you. So it's out of the question.”

“There could be a solution. . . .”

He waited.

“The Express has shut down until adequate military help can manage the Indian attacks. With Thomas here, and unable to ride, he could be with Emilie, and you and I—”

“Does that mean you'll let Emilie have him?”

Helena softly smiled. “How could I not? She loves him so.” She sighed. “With only the store to manage, I wouldn't be needed. And when the Express starts up again . . . well, then . . . we could round up mustangs together.”

“But you wouldn't make any money.”

“I don't care. We'd manage. . . .”

“I do care. I'll support my wife, and her family.” He brushed his lips against hers. “Your idea is no good. We'll have to use mine.”

“What is it?”

“I'll tell you later. Right now I have a better idea.” His mouth took possession of hers, and he kissed away any fears. For them, what was to come would be the best part of both of their lives. Because they would be together.

Now and always.

Epilogue

October 1860

I
t was a double wedding, with both sisters wearing gowns of white silk. Helena's fabric was shipped in from California and made with definite modifications from her normal patterns. Emilie wore the wedding dress their mother had worn. The younger sister held a bouquet of colorful prairie flowers, while the older sister clutched a bundle of dried woolly violets that she'd preserved in June. The crisp mountain air carried the new judge's voice with perfect clarity as the couples stood before him at the site of the nearly complete house that was to be Helena and Jake's new residence.

Judge Ulysses Douglas had been in office going on two months now. He was a plain man, not taken to flashing his position of power by the mode of his clothing. To him, his success was his wife and their seven children, ages two to sixteen. His personality was friendly and open. His record was clear. The town had checked into his background before wiring their approval to Salt Lake City. He'd run a clean court, was fair, and exceedingly honest with his verdicts.