Lover's Gold (11 page)

“It’s too dangerous, Dan. You’re making a target of yourself. Nobody knew about the trips we made out of town. This is different. Whoever shot you nearly killed you before; he might succeed this time.” She tossed him a defiant glance. “If you get yourself shot again, I’ll be damned if I’ll waste any more time keeping you alive!” Morgan grinned broadly and ran a finger along her cheek. “You’re beautiful when you’re angry, but you’re wrong about my getting shot. I’m ready for him this time. If anybody winds up carrying a bullet, it’ll be him.”

“What makes you think he’ll come after you?”

“Oh, he’ll come, all right. A back shooter doesn’t like to leave his job unfinished.”

Elaina grabbed his arm and felt his muscles tighten instinctively against her touch. Even with his attempt at a smile, his features looked drawn and hard. Gone was any trace of the handsome, carefree man who had taken her to the circus. This was the gunman, Black Dan, a man she barely knew. She felt a shiver of apprehension and let go of his arm. “There’s a law against wearing sidearms in town,” she said, determined to appear as unruffled as he.

“There’s also a law against shooting people, but that doesn’t seem to impress your sheriff.”

“I’ll come with you,” Elaina ventured, resting her broom against the wall.

“Not on your life. Being anywhere near me right now is dangerous. You’re staying here.”

“But, Dan, I—”

“I’ll see you this afternoon.” He touched the brim of his hat in a gesture of farewell and backed out of the parlor. Even from a distance, she could read the grim set of his features, the determination in his stride as he pushed open the etched-glass doors.

After only a moment’s hesitation, Elaina untied her apron, pulled off her kerchief, and walked to the kitchen.

“I’ll be back in just a few minutes,” she called to Ada. “I have an errand to run.”

Ada smiled and nodded, then immersed herself once more in the bread-making lesson she was giving the new kitchen girl.

Elaina wasted no time. She walked out onto the boardwalk and headed toward the marshal’s office. So far, little had been done about the shooting, and Elaina was sure Redmond and Dawson must have encouraged the authorities to ignore the incident. The partners wanted the gunman to take matters into his own hands. The knowledge that Morgan was armed and searching for a target would keep the miners in line.

Shading her eyes from the bright sunlight, Elaina marched purposefully across the street, avoiding a wagonload of hay as she passed. It was a warm day, but a cool May breeze ruffled the hem of her skirt. The surrounding mountains looked green, the few fluffy clouds overhead adding to what should have been a more than pleasant day.

Elaina usually enjoyed every minute she spent out-of-doors, but today she barely noticed. As she stepped onto the walk in front of the marshal’s office, she heard voices coming from inside.

“No, Mr. Morgan, in answer to your question, we don’t have any definite proof, only circumstantial evidence, but our sources say Josh Colson is the man who shot you.”

“Circumstantial?” Morgan asked. “Just how circumstantial?”

“Well, we know Colson’s the head of the miners’ grievance committee. He had a motive. He was at the town meeting hall the day you were there, and he has no alibi for his whereabouts at the time of the shooting. On top of that, a couple of miners said they heard him bragging about it afterward.”

Elaina shoved open the heavy wooden door, her temper barely under control. “That’s a damn lie, Frank Stratton, and you know it! Josh Colson never hurt anyone in his life! You’d like nothing better than to see Morgan shoot Josh. That’d make your friend Dolph happy, wouldn’t it?”

She whirled to face Morgan. “You don’t believe him, do you? You’ve seen Josh. Does he look like a killer to you?”

“Relax, Elaina. I’m not going to shoot anybody—not without a lot more proof than the marshal seems to have.” He turned his attention to Stratton, whose eyebrows had shot up at Morgan’s unintentional use of Elaina’s given name.

“I’ll check back with you, Marshal,” Morgan said. “Maybe you can come up with something a little more solid than town gossip.” He tipped his hat, grabbed Elaina’s arm, and with a thin, tight smile escorted her none too gently out of the office, closing the door behind him.

“I thought I told you to stay at the hotel.” His words, spoken through clenched teeth, stiffened her spine.

“You don’t have the authority to order me to do anything, Mr. Morgan. I want to know just what you plan to do to Josh Colson.”

He tugged her firmly down the walk, his hand gripping the top of her arm. “I told you before, Miss McAllister, I don’t intend to do anything to Josh Colson, unless the marshal comes up with proof. I don’t believe Colson shot me any more than you do.”

She stopped short. “You don’t?”

“No, I don’t. Now will you please go back to the hotel and stay there?”

She smiled up at him, feeling a sweep of relief. She’d begun to worry she’d misread the gunman after all. She was just about to tell him she’d be happy to do just that when a blast of gunfire interrupted her, shattering a pane of glass beside her and a crock of pickles in Walzheimer’s General Store.

“Get down!” Morgan pulled her down on the wooden walk behind several barrels in front of the store. Women shrieked, and men pulled them hurriedly to safety inside the shops. Elaina heard the sound of shutters being slammed behind her and rued her foolishness in not heeding Morgan’s orders.

“Damn!” he swore softly beneath his breath. “This is exactly why I wanted you safe at the hotel.” Morgan glanced around. “You’ll have to stay here. If you try to move, it might draw his fire. Looks like he’s on the roof of the bank. I’m going to circle around and come up behind him.”

“Please, Dan. Can’t we just let the marshal handle this?” He didn’t bother to answer. “Promise me you’ll stay here.” When she didn’t answer quick enough he shook her, his eyes boring into her. “Promise me!”

She could only nod. “I promise.” He started to rise, but she grabbed his shirtsleeve and pulled him back down. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

His hard look gentled. “I promise.” He touched her cheek. “Now, you stay here. I’ll be back when this is over.” Morgan rolled from behind the barrel, dodging a chorus of bullets that followed him on his dash to a water trough near the alley. Another loud report, and water sprayed from the trough. He glanced back toward Elaina and was relieved to see her well under cover behind the barrel. Then he made a second dodging run, followed by the echo of gunfire. Wood splintered from the sides of buildings as he ran. Once out of sight, he hurried along behind the buildings, careful to stay low and against the walls for cover.

As he rounded the end of the block, he took a deep breath and sprinted across the open roadway. To his surprise, he crossed the street without hearing a shot. He’d hoped the shooter would stay in position atop the bank. Now he was beginning to worry that the man had already moved to a different location.

Flattened against the livery, Morgan heard only a lone horse’s whinny as he looked down the street toward the marshal’s office. Just as he expected, the marshal remained safely inside. The streets had emptied. Several horses stood at hitching rails in front of the stores, but most had been led to safety by their worried owners.

Morgan held his .45 pointed upward, his wrist supported by his other hand as he skirted the staircase at the rear of the bank. He climbed the stairs to the building next door, holstered his weapon, and swung himself up to the roof. Reaching the top, he crouched, moving carefully to the edge of the building for a clear view of the bank roof. No one. With a steadying breath, he retraced his steps. As he feared, the man had changed position. Now finding him would be more dangerous than ever.

Once on the ground, Morgan headed down the alley, his Colt again in his hand. As he neared the street, a raspy male voice sliced the silence.

“Morgan! I got something of yers. You want to see she keeps breathin’, you’d better git out here.”

Removing his broad-brimmed hat, Morgan peered around the comer. For the first time, he felt his control slip. The shooter had Elaina’s back pinned against his chest, his arm circling her waist just beneath her full breasts. Her labored breathing set them pulsing against the man’s arms, and Morgan’s chest tightened.

“Let her go! Whatever you want is between you and me. Let her go, and I’ll step into the open.”

“Not a chance, Morgan. I’ve waited too long for this. You come out now, or the girl gets it.”

Morgan could see the glint of sunlight on metal as the man pressed his gun to Elaina’s temple. A tight knot curled in the pit of his stomach.

“Don’t do it, Dan!” Elaina’s usually soft voice grated as she strained against the shooter’s arm. “He’ll kill you for sure.”

“Who are you?” Morgan asked, stalling for time.

“Lars Kirby. Billy Kirby’s older brother. You remember Billy, don’t you? The boy you shot down like a dog in the street!”

While the man spoke, Morgan changed positions, moving around the building to a location as near the general store as he dared.

“Sorry,” Morgan said. The sound of his voice coming from a closer spot startled the thickset man, but he didn’t move away. “Your first bullet cost me my memory. You’ll have to fill me in if you want me to know who he was.”

“You’re a liar, Morgan!”

“Please,” Elaina pleaded, “he’s telling you the truth.”

The big man tightened his hold, nearly choking off her breath.

“You seem to know a lot about him, little lady. You know he’s a killer? My brother was only nineteen years old. Morgan shot him down and never looked back.”

Elaina could smell the burly man’s sour breath. His brown hair, rumpled by the wind, was long and unkempt. He was dressed in canvas trousers and a red plaid shirt, a workingman’s clothes, yet she’d never seen him before, and he didn’t talk like a miner. Though she couldn’t justify her feelings, she didn’t believe a word of what the man said about Morgan.

“I’m tired of talkin’,” Kirby said. “Come out now or I’ll kill her.”

The gun pressed harder against her temple, and Elaina felt tiny rivulets of perspiration running between her breasts.

“She means nothing to me,” Morgan answered, and the words cut like a knife. “I don’t care if you kill her or not, so you might as well let her go.”

Elaina felt a wave of nausea, more from Morgan’s words than from the heavy man’s hold on her.

“You’re lying, Morgan. She means plenty to you, all right. I saw it in yer eyes as you was walkin’ down the street.”

Elaina straightened, her courage restored a little by Kirby’s words. Did Morgan really care for her? Had he looked at her in some special way she hadn’t noticed? She had no time to ponder the questions.

Morgan stepped into the open, his gun pointed in Lars Kirby’s direction. With slow, determined steps he moved toward the spot where the shooter held Elaina. Kirby’s name conjured no memory, but the notion that he might have killed the man’s brother, as Kirby claimed, weakened Morgan’s resolve. If only he could remember.

“That’s far enough, Morgan.”

Morgan had moved to within easy shooting range, but any shot he took could be deadly for Elaina. He’d been practicing with his Colt for three days. He knew his aim was far better than that of the average man, but the wound to his shoulder had taken a toll. How much of a toll he couldn’t be sure.

“You may not remember Billy,” the man was saying, “but you know this girl. And she means a whole lot more to you than you’re willin’ to admit. So before I kill you I want you to know exactly what I intend to do. I’m gonna pleasure myself with her in every way I know how. Then I’m gonna take her the way they do them pretty boys. You got that, Morgan?”

Morgan’s control snapped. If he’d had doubts before, he had none now. Working on blind instinct, he pulled his gun, drew back the hammer, aimed, and fired in one fluid motion, the echo of the blast resounding in unison with Elaina’s high-pitched scream.

The bullet took the shooter right between the eyes.

His heavy, thickset body crumpled on top of Elaina, the blood oozing onto her skirt as Morgan raced to her side.

Unmindful of the consequences, Elaina wrapped her arms around Morgan’s neck and let him lift her into his arms while tears blurred her vision. She barely heard the sound of voices, the scrape of doors and windows being opened, or the sound of running feet as the townspeople surrounded her.

“Thank God you’re safe,” she whispered against Morgan’s cheek. He seemed not to hear her. Instead he handed her carefully into the waiting arms of her intended.

“What in hell is going on here, Elaina?” Chuck asked. He glanced from Elaina’s tear-streaked face and bloody skirt to the dead man on the ground, then to Morgan, who had holstered his weapon and backed away.

“I’m all right, Chuck. You can put me down now,” Elaina told him, knowing that if Morgan’s arms were still around her, she’d have been happy to stay where she was. Chuck complied, helping her to stand on unsteady legs and watching her uncertainly.

Elaina sniffed back tears, determined to be strong. “By the way, Chuck.” She lifted her gaze to Chuck’s wary, brooding one. “Where were you during all the commotion?”

“I—I just got here. I guess I missed most of the excitement. Long as you’re safe, that’s all that matters. I’ll have to remember to thank Morgan with a little bonus.”

“Is that all you ever think about, Chuck? Money?”

“Of course not, dear. I’m just glad you’re all right.” Elaina took a deep, steadying breath, her eyes searching for Morgan. Seeing only his broad shoulders retreating toward the marshal’s office, feeling dazed and disoriented, and sickened by the sight of the blood on her skirt, she let Chuck lead her back to the hotel.

“Well, Marshal Stratton, looks like you can call off your investigation—that is, if there ever was one.” Morgan closed the office door with a bit too much effort, the resounding thump ringing off the walls of the narrow room.

Frank Stratton smiled crookedly. He set his mug of coffee down on his desk and lowered his feet to the floor in one motion. “Do tell. I’ll see to the body, Morgan. City’ll even pick up the funeral bill so there won’t be any hard feelings.” He scratched the fringe of graying hair surrounding the bald spot on the top of his head. “Miss McAllister all right?”