Lover's Gold (18 page)

“Gentlemen, gentlemen. Fighting among ourselves is no way to solve the problem. Sooner or later we’ll find out where she’s gone. When we do, we’ll bring her back.”

“How we gonna force her to marry Chuck?” Henry wanted to know.

“You let me worry about that. You just find out where she is.”

“We’ll find out, all right.” Chuck clenched his fist, thinking of Morgan’s interference and wondering if the girl had run off to meet the gunman somewhere.

He hoped so. Even though Morgan had left the money they’d paid him in an envelope at the bank, along with extra for his hotel bill, it wasn’t enough. Chuck still carried the cuts and bruises Morgan had inflicted, and his nose would never be quite as perfect as it once was. No, Chuck had a score to settle with Morgan. He had a score to settle with them both.

Leaving the office, he stormed toward his horse. The first person he wanted to talk to was Ada Lowery. She was Elaina’s closest friend and a woman who knew just about everything that went on in Keyserville.

Mounting his sorrel gelding, he headed purposefully toward town, his mind fixed on the buxom woman working at the hotel. Ada always made him think of his mother, though they looked nothing alike. Mabel Dawson was a woman with style. Though Henry Dawson was a strong man, he could never dominate Mabel. She just let him think he could.

She had doted on Chuck from the day he was bom. “You’re not like the others,” she would say. “You’re special. Don’t ever forget that.” And Chuck never had. His mother always told him he had the most beautiful eyes in the world, and his nose was patrician, not plebeian like Henry’s.

Chuck always thought of Henry Dawson as Henry not Father, though he humored the old man by calling him that. In a moment of contempt, his mother had told Chuck the truth: Henry wasn’t his real father. She had never loved Henry; Chuck knew that. But Henry had plenty of money and, though crude and overbearing, provided his mother with security—and a home for the son she adored.

Chuck smiled mirthlessly. The truth of his heritage was a secret he would carry to his grave. Henry Dawson was powerful and wealthy, and though Chuck would be a wealthy man in his own right after the sale of the mine, he had every intention of claiming Henry Dawson’s estate as well.

Chuck’s thoughts turned to Elaina, to the last time he’d seen her, the night of the party. She’d wanted him that night. He had sensed it. She was only playing a game with him. If Morgan hadn’t interfered, he’d have won the game and they’d both have gotten what they wanted. Chuck touched his broken nose and cursed the gunman. Morgan was probably off someplace with Elaina right now, the little bitch. Well, he’d find them sooner or later, it was just a matter of time.

Chapter 13

R
EN SPOTTED HIS
red-haired brother standing outside the station even before the train rumbled to a halt.

For over a month he hadn’t been able to remember whether or not he had a brother. Now, standing tall and proud, his bright hair ruffled by the wind, Tommy Daniels was a mighty pleasant sight.

Ren rose from his seat as the train braked to a stop. He retrieved his satchel, slung it over his shoulder, and headed up the aisle. He was descending the stairs when Tommy spotted him, smiled, and waved him over.

“Mighty good to see you, little brother,” Ren said, draping an arm across the younger man’s shoulders.

Tommy grinned broadly. “Good to see you, too. You sure had us worried for a while. You must have had some trip.”

“That, Tommy, is an understatement.” They elbowed their way through the arriving and departing throngs, then escaped through the glass-paned station doors into the bustling streets of San Francisco. “This is one story you may have trouble believing.”

Ren hailed a passing hack, and the two men climbed aboard. Once inside, Ren spent the better part of the ride telling his brother about his accident, about Keyserville, Dawson and Redmond, and the Blue Mountain Mine. He filled Tommy in on everything that had happened on his trip—except Elaina McAllister.

Finally Tommy could stand the suspense no longer. “What about Elaina?” he asked. “Did you see her? Does she still live in Keyserville?” At seventeen, he had grown into a tall, slenderly built man of intelligence and integrity, but his patience had increased very little.

The hack’s arrival at their Pacific Heights town house gave Ren a moment’s reprieve. They departed the carriage and entered the small but stately residence. The brothers’ business interests—mostly shipping, trading, and real estate—necessitated spending a lot of time in the city. Though their ranch in Napa was home, overnight visits to the city had become such a common occurrence that buying a residence was the only practical solution.

“Well?” Tommy persisted as they dropped into comfortable overstuffed chairs. The narrow wood-frame structure stood three stories high, had wide bay windows that looked out over the blue Pacific, and was elegantly furnished with Oriental carpets and classic mahogany furniture richly upholstered in forest green and brown.

“Well, what?”

“You know very well what: What about Elaina?”

Just the sound of her name twisted Ren’s heart. “Yes, she’s still there, and yes, I saw her.”

“How did she look? Did you talk to her?”

Ren looked hard at his brother. They’d been through too much together to keep secrets, but his relationship with Elaina McAllister was far too intimate a subject to discuss even with Tommy.

“She’s beautiful,” he said, meaning it more than ever before in his life. “She has thick reddish-brown hair, and her eyes are golden, kind of like a she-lion’s. She has skin as smooth as silk and pink cheeks. She blushes, but only if you hit a sensitive subject. She’s tall, but not gangly like she used to be. She has beautiful full breasts and—” Ren stopped short. He’d already gone too far, but once he started talking about her, he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He refused to meet his brother’s questioning look.

“Anyway, she’s engaged to Chuck Dawson, and that son of a bitch—” He clenched his teeth, biting the words off. “So I have to go back as soon as I get things cleared up here. I just hope it isn’t too late.”

Tommy had never seen his brother in such a state. He’d been fine as long as he was discussing Blue Mountain, the Dawsons, and even the two bullet wounds he’d received. But the subject of Elaina McAllister had him talking in riddles, speaking in disjointed sentences, and circling the matter entirely. Something was definitely wrong.

“Slow down, big brother. I’m getting a little confused. You’re going back to Keyserville?”

“Yes.”

“But you just got here.”

“I’ve got to see Jacob first, get the wedding postponed. I’ve got to get back to Keyserville before Dawson hurts Elaina again.”

Tommy bristled. “What the hell did he do to her?” Tommy seldom swore, but Elaina McAllister was a lady dear to both men’s hearts. She had saved their lives. Neither Tommy nor Ren would ever forget that.

Ren explained about the engagement party, being careful to leave out the heated lovemaking that had followed. Tommy eyed him speculatively, as if sensing there was more to the story than Ren was willing to admit.

“Well, you can stop worrying about the wedding, at least for the time being. When Jacob didn’t hear from you, he got worried. He was just getting some men together to go after you when I got your wire. He’d already postponed the wedding by then. Melissa’s been under the weather again, so it all worked out for the best.” Tommy grinned broadly. “You got a reprieve, Ren, at least for a while.”

Ren felt such a wave of relief at Tommy’s words he was almost dizzy. But the fact was, nothing had changed. He was going to marry Melissa Stanhope sooner or later. He owed it to Jacob, and more importantly, marrying into the Stanhope family would fulfill his lifetime dream of respectability and status.

Somehow the dream seemed a little tarnished now.

Elaina had been riding in the crowded coach compartment of the Pacific Express with dozens of other weary passengers for five days when the train pulled into Cheyenne, Wyoming. Trying to save as much as she could on her fare, she’d elected to travel coach class, and the crowded, uncomfortable seat had taken its toll. Most of the journey she’d spent trying to forget Ren Daniels. Determined to hate him, she’d conjured images of him in Melissa Stanhope’s arms—even though she didn’t know what the Stanhope girl looked like.

She’d tried to tell herself he tricked her into his bed, tried to convince herself he lied to her, took her virginity just to satisfy his lust. But she knew it just wasn’t so. She’d gone to his bed willingly, and if she could have waved a magic wand, she’d be there again. She missed him terribly. Where was he now? What was he doing? She could see his light blue eyes as clearly as if he were next to her on the uncomfortable seat. She yearned to reach out and touch the long, thin scar along his neck, comfort him, ask him how he’d been hurt, then soothe away his pain.

No, she couldn’t hate him. Not ever, no matter how hard she tried. In her heart she knew he’d done no more than she’d allowed, and truthfully she didn’t regret one moment of their time together. She only regretted she couldn’t spend the rest of her life with him—as Melissa Stanhope would, after their wedding next week. The thought tore at Elaina’s heart. She had to guard constantly against crying; whenever she wasn’t careful, she felt hot tears on her cheeks.

Someday, she told herself, she would forget him. But that would be a hard task to accomplish. She’d dreamed about Ren Daniels for the last nine years. Now it looked as though she might dream about him forever.

The stop in Cheyenne was scheduled for twenty minutes, just long enough to allow for arriving and departing passengers, to take on water, and to feed the passengers not wealthy enough to travel first class. Elaina had found the food in the depots along the way less than memorable: beefsteak, fried eggs, fried potatoes—usually worse.

According to the conductor, however, their stop in Cheyenne would be extended at least an hour, possibly longer. A stretch of track near Laramie had washed out in a flash flood. Elaina was actually glad for the delay. She intended to stretch her legs and buy herself a decent meal. Riding coach class, she had slept sitting up, so every joint, bone, and muscle screamed for a brisk walk.

Clutching her reticule, she tried to brush the fine powdery soot from her gray traveling suit as she stepped from the train. She was glad she’d listened to Ada, who’d insisted she wear something that would blend with the dirt. Even the decorative black frogs that closed the front of the suit and the heavy black braid on the bottom of the jacket and around the hem of the skirt were gray now. She would never have believed the soot could filter over every inch of her body. She could even taste the grittiness in her mouth.

Cheyenne was a city like none Elaina had seen. It was truly a wild West fantasy. As tired and dirty as she was, the variety of interesting people in the streets piqued her curiosity and sent excitement pumping through her veins. False-fronted buildings, built of tar paper and old wooden boxes, lined the dirt streets. Flattened tin cans had been used for roofing. She passed the Cheyenne
Leader
, which appeared to be the local newspaper office, and the First National Bank. There was an impressive courthouse building up the street and a fine-looking city hall.

It seemed every third building housed a saloon: McDaniel’s Place, the Old Greenback Rooms—“Largest Saloon in the Western Country.” Young’s Bathhouse advertised “Creek water bathing—hot and cold.”

As she walked farther away from the station, she noticed men dressed in fringed buckskins and women in calico skirts and practical sunbonnets that covered most of the face as well as the head. Dark-skinned Indian men, women, and children walked through the dusty streets wearing a hodgepodge of garments, from soldiers’ blue uniforms to soft white-fringed leather dresses. Tiny infants wore no clothes at all. Hogs and cows had the run of the streets, and dogs roamed everywhere.

As Elaina strolled briskly along the board planks near the buildings, a heavyset, broad-faced Indian a few paces ahead of her made the error of bumping into a skinny blond youth and his pudgy friend.

“Stay outta my way, you redskin trash!” The blond boy shoved the Indian against a buckboard stopped in front of McCloskey’s General Store.

The Indian bristled, grunted, but did nothing to defend himself. Then the chubby, stringy-haired boy pushed him, this time into the dirt. Again the Indian did nothing. Elaina glanced around, wishing she could help, but there were throngs of milling people watching just as she was, and none seemed willing to interfere. She didn’t know the customs of the West, but if this was an example of western hospitality, she was not impressed.

The Indian rose as if nothing had happened, brushed himself off, and with a grunt of resignation, widely skirted the two young men. The boys, apparently content with their mischief, allowed the Indian to continue on his way. The whole scene made Elaina feel slightly ill. Like all easterners, she knew the stories of the Indian Wars and of the hostilities between the white man and the Indian the wars had created. Like all prejudice, she decided as she continued on her way, only time could cure ill will.

Continuing several blocks farther and with plenty of time to spare, Elaina headed toward the sign up ahead that marked the Delmonico House. A quick peek in the window assured her the place was clean, and as she walked through the door, her nose assured her the food would be good. She seated herself at a small table, wishing she could have done a more thorough job of cleansing the dust from her face and hair before leaving the train. As it was, she was glad for the narrow-brimmed straw hat that covered most of her red-brown hair. The rest she wore pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head.

A buxom young woman took her order of fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, biscuits on the side. When the steaming plate arrived, Elaina breathed deeply of the delicious aroma, then ate every bite on her plate, savoring each mouthful. She was still nearly three days from her destination and guessed this might be the last good food she’d eat till she arrived.