Linda Castle (24 page)

No, by God, I am not in love with Marydyth Hollenbeck.

“Y
our little daughter is just lovely,” one of the church

ladies said within Flynn’s hearing. “It is just amazing, considering that she has spent so much time in the company of a rough man.”

The chill went all the way to his bones. As he watched the woman with Marydyth his earlier feelings returned.

He was the reason they had talked. He was the reason they had turned a chilly shoulder to Marydyth. He was causing Rachel and Marydyth to live with the stain of gossip.

Marydyth looked at Flynn over the top of the other woman’s head. Was that anger she saw flit through his brown eyes, or was it the same distant reserve she felt last night?

“Mr. O’Bannion has done an admirable job of caring for Rachel in every way,” Marydyth said clearly. “I will forever be in his debt.” Marydyth kept her gaze fixed on his face.

Gratitude. There it was, laid out on the table plain as day. She was grateful, beholden.
In his debt.

Flynn felt the cold shadow of self-doubt roll over him.
Had Marydyth shared his bed, endured his touch
only
because she was grateful?

He bit down hard on the idea. It was not an easy thing for any man to admit. To have a woman take a man into her bed for passion was something Flynn could understand. But if she had done it because she felt beholden to him.

A bitter taste filled his mouth. He turned away on his boot heel, the rowels of his spurs digging deep into the dry earth. He had to put some distance between himself and Marydyth. He needed to be alone to think about what he was going to do.

Flynn was adjusting the cinch on Jack’s saddle at one of their rest stops when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned and drew his side arm in one smooth motion.

Ted Kelts stared at him with owlish eyes. “A bit jumpy, aren’t you?”

Flynn slammed the gun back into the leather holster. “Kelts. I haven’t seen you much on this trip.”

Ted grinned. “I’ve been around. I think you probably would’ve seen me if you hadn’t been just a little preoccupied with Marydyth.”

“And?” Flynn questioned, never one to beat about the bush.

“And, I was just wondering if you two have any kind of understanding?” Kelts asked, grinning. “You and Marydyth, I mean.”

“Understanding? What kind of an understanding?” Flynn’s belly knotted up, and he tasted that bitterness in his mouth again.

“An arrangement of the personal kind.” Kelts lifted both brows. “If I’m not cutting in on your time, then I thought I might begin courting the lady.”

The words hit Flynn square between the eyes. So, it was beginning already. And it wasn’t some faceless interloper who was going to be horning in, it was Ted Kelts. It didn’t help matters that Flynn had no use for him, but then, he thought sourly, no man would have been the right man.

“I’m not the marrying kind, Kelts.” Flynn detected a note of sadness in his own truthful words. “I ride alone.”

“Glad to hear it” He extended his hand.

Flynn stared at it as if it were a diamondback.

After a moment, Kelts withdrew it. “Well, if you’ll excuse me I’m going to ask Marydyth if she will let me escort her when we reach the mine and have the dedication ceremony.”

“Yeah, why don’t you go do that?” Flynn turned and mounted Jack, suddenly wishing that he could just ride out and forget he had ever heard of Hollenbeck Corners.

The sun climbed higher into the sky as the Hollenbeck townsfolk got a little closer to the Lavender Lady. At noon they stopped for lunch. After a short break they started out again at a pace that grated on Flynn’s nerves. He was anxious to get to the mine and spring his trap.

Finally, in the afternoon, they had all reached the mine.

Flynn rode on ahead, wanting to make sure that his deception looked convincing enough. The foreman had hired men from Bisbee to retimber the front of the mine and an area about fifty yards into it. From that point on the timbers were rotting and debris covered the floor, left from when the miners had gone on strike. The workers had gone back home, so there was no risk they might have told anyone. Flynn stared at the colorful bunting that stretched across the mouth of the mine. It fluttered in the breeze, catching for a moment on the grip of the craggy rocks that surrounded the Lady.

It looked very festive. Flynn hoped it was convincing enough to fool whoever was behind the threats.

The wagons arrived and preparations began for the ceremony at four o’clock. The church ladies had brought baskets of chilled food, which they began to lay out as soon as the men had erected plank tables. Then, by some mutually decided order, the women began to disappear in small, whispering groups to change their clothes.

Flynn gnawed the inside of his lip. Worry engulfed him. He had little fear that anything would happen to Marydyth or Rachel when they were in a cluster of gossiping hens. But now, as the group dispersed and went into the cover of Joshua trees and the pale green yellow of paloverde, he felt the grip of fear.

How was he going to keep an eye on Rachel and Marydyth without attracting unwanted attention to them all? But then a large-boned widow named Harriet Bessmer took care of the dilemma for him. She stepped into the clearing that was ringed by wagons moving and buzzing with the construction of plank tables and a speaking platform. Then she cleared her throat in a way that halted every hammer and got every man jack’s attention.

“Most of you polecats know me, but for those who don’t, I am the widow of Harry Bessmer, and this here is Sam Colt.” She held up a pistol. Sunlight shimmered along the cool blue barrel. “The ladies will be a-changing clothes now and just so’s you randy bucks will understand plain, I will be a-keepin’ watch. I am kind of old and cranky and I don’t see real good anymore but my hearin’ is fine—better’n an old hound’s. If’n I hear so much as a twig snap, I’ll be a-shootin’.”

There were a couple of whoops and catcalls.

“And make no mistake, I’ll be aiming jest about crotch
high.” She squinted one eye and leveled the gun at the appropriate height.

The laughter stopped. Flynn swallowed hard and so did a few other men. But he was also thanking God for Harriet Bessmer because she had solved his problem of how to keep Marydyth and Rachel safe.

An hour later as the sun drifted farther into the west, a wide slice of shade formed in the shadow of the rocky outcrops around the Lavender Lady.

The dozen men who wore bright red coats and hats with black bills made up the marching band of Hollenbeck Corners. They all buttoned their coats and started to practice. After hitting a couple of sour notes they did a passable rendition of a high-stepping march. It took a few minutes for the photographer the
Epitaph
had sent over from Tombstone to get set up, but he finally managed to take a couple of photos of the band and the mayor, promising to share the tintypes with the reporters from the
Chronicle
and the
Herald.

Flynn watched everything with his hand hovering near his side arm.

Any time now he expected the miners to tip their hand. And in the back of his mind was the constant question of what he was going to do when it was all over.

A condemning voice told him that he could not continue as he had. It was unfair to Marydyth and Rachel. But Flynn shoved those thoughts aside and concentrated on the throng of people.

Flynn circled the outside edge of the crowd, listening to the various businessmen drone on. They had asked him to make a speech but he had refused, partly because he had to be free to watch and observe, and partly because he wasn’t used to putting that many words together in a year, much less in front of a gawking group of people.

Marydyth laughed at something Ted Kelts said. A redhot anger swelled inside Flynn as he looked at her and Rachel, standing with Kelts, sharing a cup of lemonade.

Damn it,
he thought to himself. I
don’t care what she does. She is free and over twenty-one.
But the hell of it was, he did care. It was eating him up inside to see her with Kelts and making him damned near crazy to admit it.

He clenched his jaw tight and forced the thoughts from his mind. This was no time to get moonstruck. If he let down his guard, harm could come to Rachel and Marydyth.

“Would you like a plate?” Harriet Bessmer nudged Flynn in the ribs and showed him a plate heaped with potato salad, ham and a slice of four-layer white cake.

“No, thanks, Harriet.” Flynn smiled. “I’m not hungry.” It wasn’t a lie. His appetite had left him when Marydyth gave Ted that first smile.

“Better eat. You’re just wastin’ away.” Harriet regarded him from beneath the rim of her faded calico bonnet.

“Maybe later. I appreciate the thought.”

Flynn moved away, keeping Marydyth and Rachel in sight as he drifted toward the mine. The bunting fluttered in the breeze. A clutch of women engulfed Marydyth and Rachel. It was impossible to distinguish one voice from another, or to tell one bonnet from the next, but Flynn was relieved to know they were in the center of the crowd.

A shout and the sound of gunfire had Flynn running. He came upon two fuzzy-cheeked youths rolling in the dirt A crowd had begun to gather around them.

Flynn shook his head, feeling the strain flow from his body. It was nothing—just a typical fight among cocky
boys itching to become men. Nearby, some other damned fools were having a good time taking shots at a jackrabbit.

Marydyth mingled with the womenfolk and tried to pay attention to what they were saying. It wasn’t easy. All day long her attention had shifted from Rachel to Flynn and back again.

She looked up and frowned. Rachel was no longer at her side. Turning, she scanned the area for sight of her daughter’s coppery curls. Terror gripped her. She-started to call out to Flynn but she felt an insistent tug on her skirts. Thinking it was Rachel, she turned, smiling, to find herself staring into the freckled face of a boy about six years old.

“Ma’am, I have a…” His voice trailed off as he thrust a folded piece of paper at Marydyth.

“A note?” she asked.

“Uh-huh.” He nodded. As soon as her fingers closed over the paper he scurried away, lost amid the tangle of skirts.

Marydyth unfolded the note and felk an immediate sense of relief. It was neatly lettered, printed in a careful block style.

I have taken Rachel to see the mine. Don’t worry.

F.

She felt the smile curving her lips and brought the note close to her face. Unconsciously, she rubbed it against her cheek and froze.

Marydyth felt the cold fist of terror squeezing her heart. She put the paper under her nose and inhaled deeply.

It reeked of tobacco smoke.
Tobacco smoke.

Marydyth ran toward the mine. The townspeople were all grouped around the makeshift podium where the mayor and various businessmen were giving speeches. She had looked for Flynn but didn’t see him and was not going to waste a single second searching for him.

Whatever happened now she was going to save her daughter.

When she reached the mouth of the mine, her courage nearly left her. Nobody was around, and the bunting that had been stretched over the opening lay in a crumpled heap in the dirt.

She swallowed hard and forced herself to step inside. Instantly she was engulfed by the darkness. Memories of Yuma and the airless nights threatened to choke her, but she put her hand on the rough, cold wall of stone and drew in a deep breath.

Rachel needed her.

Flynn finally worked his way out of the wall of men. He looked around for Marydyth and Rachel but didn’t see them. However the clutch of women was still there, moving like a single creature toward the food table.

They were all right.

Marydyth took a step and froze at the too loud sound of gravel crunching beneath her feet. She swallowed her fear and kept on walking, but this time on the toes of her shoes.

Farther into the yawning blackness the smell of tobacco smoke engulfed her head. Fear, so thick and dark, nearly choked her.

Somebody was in the mine and it wasn’t Flynn.

She continued on with her hand against the wall to
find her way until she came to a fork. One side was dark as pitch, but the other had a faint glow, as if a lantern were lit somewhere deep inside.

Marydyth moved cautiously forward. She heard a voice. It was muffled and distorted from the echo in the mine but something about it was vaguely familiar. She inched closer, holding her breath.

Then she recognized the voice. It was Ted Kelts.

Anger and a sense of betrayal wiped any semblance of common sense from Marydyth’s mind. She ran toward the light.

Ted turned toward her with a shocked look on his face. The lantern beside his toe gleamed on the gun he was pointing—at Rachel.

“Oh, Marydyth, I wish you hadn’t come here,” he said in a voice that was too calm, too even.

Marydyth wrapped her arms around Rachel, then shoved her behind her body. If he was going to shoot, then his bullet would find her first.

“Ted, have you gone mad? What are you doing with Rachel…here in the mine?”

He tilted his head and looked at her with a quivering smile on his face. “I thought, finally, you and I…” Then he gestured with the gun barrel. “Why’d you have to come now? In a few minutes it would’ve been over and
she
would’ve been out of the way.”

His words rippled over Marydyth, chilling her to the bone. “You were going to kill—my daughter?”

He shrugged. “She’s in the way, Marydyth. Don’t you see? Once she is gone, Flynn O’Bannion will leave. He doesn’t give a damn about the money or the mines. Once she is out of the way it can be you and me—the way I have always intended.” He frowned and stared at Marydyth. “I’ve waited a long time for you, you know.”

“What are you saying?” Marydyth’s eyes scanned the mine, looking for some weapon, some way to save Rachel. There was nothing but stone.

“J.C. was too old for you.”

“I loved J.C.,” Marydyth said softly.

“You loved his money. But if he had just sold me the Lavender Lady, then I would’ve had much more money than he.”