Lover's Gold (39 page)

“Well, son,” Henry said, “you and yer new bride goin’ upstairs fer a while?” He winked and grinned broadly.

Chuck just looked at him, his dark eyes unreadable. “She’s been with Morgan. As far as I’m concerned, she’s nothing but a whore. I just want this little charade over with as soon as possible.”

Elaina’s head throbbed. Her eyes buzzed and her stomach heaved. What had Chuck said about Morgan? What did Morgan have to do with their wedding?

“Chuck? What’s happening?”

Chuck ignored her. “Mrs. Knudsen.” He motioned the broad-shouldered, thickset woman over. “Take Elaina upstairs for her nap. Let her sleep as long as she likes. The trip was very tiring.”

Beulah Knudsen just nodded. She guided Elaina toward the stairs.

Chuck Dawson watched his new wife leave the room and lifted a corner of his mouth in a satisfied smile. Everything had gone as planned. They’d had Elaina sign over her shares—and execute her last will and testament making him the beneficiary, just as a precaution, since he would be anyway.

“How long you gonna keep her on that stuff?” his father was asking.

“She only had a mild dose this morning. I didn’t want the preacher getting suspicious. When she wakes up I’ll give her another. We need to get people used to the idea of our marriage. Once they’re convinced it’s for real, Mrs. Dawson will have an unfortunate accident. Then I’m a free man again—and a whole lot richer.”

“Damn shame. If the girl had just done what she was supposed to, none of this woulda happened.”

“Yeah, well she didn’t.”

Henry Dawson sighed and shook his head. “Damned shame.”

Ren Daniels stepped off the Lehigh Valley train and gratefully stretched his lanky frame. Nine long days since he’d left California. Nine days of cramped conditions, hot, airless weather, and the wearying, bone-jarring rumble of the train. And nine sleepless nights of worrying about Elaina.

Ren retied the thong that held the black leather holster to his thigh and eased the Colt into his hand. From force of habit, he checked the cylinder, then slid the revolver back in place. Lifting his broad-brimmed hat, he mopped his brow with the inside of his elbow and settled the hat back on his head. A quick check of his surroundings confirmed that Dawson and his men weren’t expecting him.

According to the message Chuck had left with Herbert Thomas, Chuck had discovered that Dan Morgan was Ren Daniels, though Ren didn’t think Dawson had made the connection to the youth Henry and Dolph had left to die in the coal mine. He had known that Daniels was to marry Melissa Stanhope. In fact, Chuck had planned Elaina’s kidnapping to take place while Ren was at his wedding. Dawson was counting on the fact that Ren was marrying into one of the wealthiest families in California. He was convinced Ren would no longer be interested in Elaina— and that was where Chuck Dawson was wrong.

Ren tossed his satchel over his shoulder and headed toward the Hotel Keyserville. Ada Lowery was the first person he wanted to see.

“Why, Mr. Morgan,” she greeted him warmly, extending a meaty, veined hand, “good to see you!”

“Hello, Ada.” He accepted the hand, leaned over and kissed her plump cheek.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, guessing there was trouble by the tone of his voice. “It’s Elaina, isn’t it? Lord a’mighty, what’s happened to her now?”

“Dawson took her, Ada. I believe he’s brought her back here. I was hoping you could tell me where.” He plopped his satchel on the front desk.

“Chuck got in early this morning,” Ada told him. “Hasn’t been in town, but somebody seen him get off the dawn train. That’s all I know.”

“Where’s he most likely to take her?”

“My guess’d be his father’s house. The old McAllister mansion. There’s plenty of room, and it’s far enough outta town so’s nobody’d be likely to stop by.”

“Thanks, Ada. Watch my satchel for me?”

“I’ll put it upstairs. Get a nice room ready for you. Let me know if there’s anything I kin do.”

Ren smiled, but his eyes looked grim. “I will.” He pulled open the freshly varnished double mahogany doors of the hotel and headed into the street.

“Be careful,” Ada called after him.

He nodded and headed toward the livery. He knew the old McAllister place well. It was out near the patch town, out near the mine. He would need a way to bring Elaina home if she was there, so he rented a buggy and headed in that direction, passing few people on the street and fewer still on the road out of town. A break for his side. He didn’t need somebody recognizing him and, thinking he still worked for Dawson, taking another potshot at him. This time, if there was any shooting, he intended to be the man behind the gun.

Elaina sat still while Mrs. Knudsen brushed her hair. She was feeling a little better after her nap, a little more in charge of herself. Her mind was still hazy, but she was comfortable here in her room, though she liked her butterfly wallpaper better than the red magnolias that covered her walls now. She wondered why her mother hadn’t let her choose, as she always had before.

The door opened, and she swung her gaze around just as Chuck entered, carrying a glass of water. Time for her medication. She was beginning to hate the bitter liquid, even though it did make her feel better—as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

She rose as Chuck walked up to her.

“Here,” he commanded, “drink this.”

“I don’t need it, Chuck, really I don’t. I’m feeling much better.”

He grabbed the back of her neck and forced the cup to her lips. The sudden movement threw her off balance. She swayed crazily, bumped into Chuck, and sent the glass crashing to the floor.

“Idiot! Now look what you’ve done.” His navy blue suit was soaked down the front and shards of glass littered the floor of the bedroom.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Dawson,” Mrs. Knudsen said. “I’ll clean it up.” She left to fetch a broom.

“I’m sorry, Chuck. I didn’t mean to stumble. It’s just that I’m so dizzy all the time.”

“Never mind. I’ll get you another.” Chuck walked to the door, but the sound of footsteps thudding rapidly up the stairs brought him up short. Panting from exertion, Andy Johnson cleared the landing at a dead run.

“Morgan’s in town!”

“What! He can’t be.”

“Jimmy Stevens over at the station saw him get off the train. Jimmy got out here as fast as he could, just like you told him.”

“Damn! Why in blazes would the man leave in the middle of his honeymoon and come all the way out here? Surely the blasted woman can’t mean that much to him.”

“I don’t know, boss. Jimmy said he was wearing his hog leg. We’d better get Bill Sharp back out here right away. He’s still in the patch town. Over at Jennings’s Saloon. I’ll go get him.”

“Wait a minute. We’d better hide the girl first. We can’t afford to let him find her in this condition.” He paused for a moment. “Take her out to the mine. There’s nobody around today. Take her into the main shaft, that old tunnel on the right. Go in just far enough so no one will see you. I’ll send someone to get you after Sharp finishes Morgan off.”

“You’re taking me into the mine?” Elaina asked. “What for? I don’t want to go to the mine, Chuck.”

Chuck took a steadying breath, setting his mouth in a hard line. He wished she’d taken the laudanum—now there wasn’t time to mix another dose. Clenching his fist, he punched her—one quick, sharp blow—and she crumpled to the floor.

“Grab that blanket.” Andy did as he was ordered, and Chuck wrapped Elaina in the folds. “Take my buggy. It’s sitting out front. Make sure no one sees you. And don’t get impatient. We don’t know when Morgan will show. Whenever it is, Sharp had better be ready.”

Chuck carried Elaina down the stairs to the front door. Johnson loaded her onto the floor of the buggy. Then Chuck returned to the house to dismiss the housekeeper and find his father. He needed to warn Dolph and send for Sharp. He hoped the gunman was all he claimed to be. Chuck damn well knew
he
was no match for Morgan.

Ren skirted the patch town and headed straight for the mansion. The sooner he got to Dawson, the better his chances. When he spotted the chimney of the house just over the next rise, he halted the buggy. Tying the horse in the shade of a sycamore, he took a shortcut across the field. In minutes he reached the fence behind the Dawson house.

“It was quiet—too quiet. Moving closer, he climbed the stairs to the back porch, entered the mansion with as little noise as possible, and flattened himself against a kitchen wall. He could hear Chuck’s shrill voice coming from the parlor, as well as the raspy, uncouth voice of his father.

Ren moved into the dining room, his gun drawn and held to his chest, ready for any sudden movement.

“Why don’t you join us, Mr. Morgan?” Chuck said as if inviting him to tea. “That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?” He stood in the doorway, calmly indicating Morgan’s welcome.

Aiming his gun at the center of Dawson’s chest, Ren moved into the parlor. “Get over there”—he motioned toward Henry—“next to your father.” Chuck complied.

“She’s that important to you?”

“She’s that important. Now, where is she?” Ren remained tense. Sharp was here somewhere, but where? His glance kept straying to the stairway.

“I don’t believe my wife’s whereabouts are any of your concern, Mr. Morgan.”

Ren took a step toward Dawson, his temper barely in check. “I swear, Dawson, if you’ve laid a finger on Elaina, I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”

“Steady, now, Morgan—or is it Daniels?”

“Daniels?” Henry spoke up for the first time. “His name’s Daniels?”

“So I gather,” Chuck said. “Mean something to you?”

“Not unless he’s Ed Daniels’s son. Now, that couldn’t be, could it, boy?”

“One and the same,” Ren told him, regaining some control. Henry’s ruddy complexion paled noticeably. “I believe you and I have some unfinished business,” Ren told him. “And I haven’t forgotten Dolph Redmond.” His mouth thinned to a grim line as the muscles of his face grew taut. “Now, where is Elaina?”

“As I said before, my wife’s—”

In two long strides Ren reached Dawson and grabbed him by the lapels, hauling him to his feet. With grim purpose, he forced the gun barrel between Dawson’s teeth, the long muzzle gagging him. Henry Dawson started to rise.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Ren warned. “Now, I’m tired of asking. Where is she?” When Dawson didn’t answer Ren cocked the hammer, the ominous click sending beads of perspiration running down Chuck’s brow.

“She’s . . . she’s . . .”

“Where is she!” Ren rammed the gun in farther.

“The mine,” Chuck gagged out, the words barely discernible with the revolver down his throat.

Ren slid the barrel out from between Chuck’s teeth. “Where in the mine?”

“Near the entrance. On A level. The old tunnel to the right.”

“That’s all I wanted to know.” He let the hammer down easy, but kept the gun pointed at Chuck’s heart. He opened Chuck’s coat and removed the revolver that had been tucked in the top of his trousers, then did the same to Henry. After tossing the guns out an open window, he holstered his weapon. A shadow in the doorway caught his attention.

“Hello, Morgan. I’ve been waiting for you.” Bill Sharp stood poised on the threshold. Tall and well built, he stood confident and smiling. “I was hoping you’d show up sooner or later.” He faced Ren with his feet spread wide and one hand just inches from the butt of his revolver, a Smith and Wesson Schofield .45.

Ren straightened. “You want it here?”

“No time like the present. I don’t trust you, Morgan. You might be a back shooter. A man never knows.”

Sharp’s eyes hadn’t moved from Ren’s face. It was an old trick—watch your opponent’s eyes, wait for the telltale blink—but it wouldn’t work this time. Ren forced himself to relax. Here in the parlor he stood at a definite disadvantage. Sharp’s back was to the sun, his eyes in shadow.

“Make your move, Sharp,” Ren baited, hoping to force the gunman’s hand.

Sharp remained cool. “Uh-uh. It’s your move, Morgan. When I kill you, I want to know I gave you a chance to draw first.”

Ren willed himself to be calm. Don’t think of Lainey, he warned himself. Think only of the feel of the gun. Of your finger as it touches the trigger. Just like the old days—just like always.

In a split second blue metal gleamed in the sunlight. The roar of shots echoed wildly across the room, and the acrid smell of gun smoke filled the air. For a moment both men stood stock still, each eyeing the other as if the last few seconds weren’t real. Then Bill Sharp crumpled to the floor, his blood running red on the thick Persian carpet.

“Chuck!” Henry Dawson’s raspy voice sounded brittle.

Ren turned just in time to see Chuck Dawson slump to the rug, a growing red stain darkening his lapel.

Henry leaned over him, then knelt to cradle Chuck’s head in his lap. “He’s dead,” Henry said, his voice thick with emotion. His eyes were filled with tears. “Sharp’s bullet went wild. He killed Chuck instead of you.”

Poetic justice, Ren thought as he slid his weapon back into his holster.

“I wish I could say I’m sorry.” The words Chuck had spoken burned in his mind like a white-hot poker:
my wife
. Ren didn’t doubt Dawson’s words, but if she was his wife, then she was his widow now. Ren just prayed he’d arrived in time to stop Dawson from consummating his vows—or worse. He wouldn’t let his mind linger on the grim possibilities. He had to find her—and soon.

“How long have we been here?” Elaina kept her gaze focused on the kerosene lamp next to Andy Johnson’s feet. The lamp gave off only a dim, wavering illumination, but it kept her demons at bay. She was sitting on a blanket on the floor of the mine, her back against a thick, rough timber. This seemed to be an older part of the mine. The timbers looked dry and half rotted. She shuddered to think of the miners working in such unsafe conditions.

“Couple of hours. Guess Chuck hit you pretty hard.”

She tested the bruise on her jaw. She knew it must be swollen and purple. Chuck hadn’t lost his touch. Her head throbbed unbearably, but at least her dizziness was finally gone and her mind crystal clear.