Lover's Gold (12 page)

“No thanks to you, she’s fine. But there is one thing I want from you, Marshal.”

“Oh? And what might that be?”

“I want you to get any information you can find on the Kirby brothers, Lars and Billy. Particularly how Billy Kirby died.” Morgan flexed his knuckles. “Think you can handle that?”

“I can tell you about the Kirby boys right now,” Stratton said, moving from behind his desk to a stack of papers, advertisements, and old Wanted posters. “Lars Kirby’s wanted for murder in three states. There’s a sizable reward out for him.” Stratton handed him the poster. “I’ll see you get it. His brother died three years ago in Kansas. You killed him, Morgan, but I guess you don’t remember that, do you? Far as I know, it was a fair fight. Billy was trying to make a name for-himself. He drew down on you. You killed him in self-defense.”

Morgan released a long, relieved breath. “How is it you know so much about all this, Stratton?”

“I did a little research for Dolph and Henry before they hired you. They wanted to be sure to get their money’s worth.” Another crooked smile. “So far, you’ve been more trouble than you’re worth, but after today, those miners oughta be good and scared. My guess is they’ll behave themselves as long as you’re around.”

Morgan clenched his jaw, not liking the marshal or the self-satisfied tone of his words. “Thanks, Stratton, for all your . . . assistance.”

“Any time, Morgan. Any time at all.”

Morgan let himself out, aware of the burden that had been lifted from his conscience and feeling a whole lot safer as he walked down Broad Street toward his room. Without conscious effort, he let his thoughts drift to Elaina, how brave she’d been, how worried for his safety, even though her own life was in peril. He hoped she’d never know how close she had come to dying. The thought wrenched his guts like a slug of rotten whiskey.

Morgan crossed the street wondering at the intensity of his emotions. Though his memories were limited, more of them were returning each day. He was sure he’d never felt the gut-wrenching, heart-stopping fear he’d encountered seeing Elaina McAllister with a loaded gun at her head. He damned himself for allowing himself to become attached to the girl. If he’d bedded her as he set out to, he was sure he’d be feeling none of these things. That’s what happened to a man, he told himself, when he let his loins do his thinking for him.

As he approached the etched-glass doors of the hotel, he resolved again to bring the girl to his bed and get it over with. He needed to get back to being himself instead of some love-struck fool.

Chapter 8

“W
ELL, TOMORROW’S THE
big day.” Ada Lowery broached the subject Elaina had been dreading.

“I know, Ada.” She glanced across the kitchen to the buxom gray-haired woman expertly slicing thin pieces from a slab of salt pork that rested on the butcher block. She’d met Ada seven years ago. Henry Dawson had moved Elaina into the hotel after her mother died so Ada could look after her, but she was more of a friend than a second mother. Ada had helped Elaina survive the loss of her family, had shown her how to earn her room and board, and taught her to depend on no one but herself.

“Still haven’t changed yer mind?” Ada asked, lifting the lid off a kettle of boiling beans. The steamy aroma billowed up in a hazy cloud as she added the salt pork.

“You know very well I haven’t changed my mind,” Elaina answered. Though she’d worked for her board and room, Henry Dawson had paid for Elaina’s schooling, her clothing, and the necessities of life. Elaina had insisted from the beginning that Henry keep accurate records of what she owed him, and Henry had done as she’d asked. A little over two years ago, he’d told her how much she owed, and the sum seemed incredible. Then he told her what he really wanted in return—her promise to marry his son.

“I’ve given my word, and I intend to keep it,” she said as they seated themselves at a wide pine table beside tall stacks of homemade bread. They would need dozens of tiny finger sandwiches for the engagement party tomorrow night. With the expertise of women all too familiar with kitchen work, they began slicing the loaves. “Besides, it’s too late now, even if I wanted to back out.”

“Well, you sure seem edgy lately.” Ada flashed a knowing smile. “Couldn’t be that Morgan fella, could it? I seen the way he watches you—and the way you look at him. Can’t say as I blame you none, neither. He is one handsome man.”

Elaina stiffened. Was she that transparent? She’d tried to stay away from Morgan, been determined not to let him insinuate himself any deeper into her affections than he already had, but her thoughts remained with him, and her unruly eyes watched him covertly whenever she had the chance.

He’d checked on her that day after the shooting, been solicitous, and apologized for getting her involved, but Chuck had been there, so the conversation was formal and remote. Which was probably just as well.

“Doesn’t matter one way or another,” Elaina replied. “It’s too late now. Anyway, why would I want to get involved with a man like Morgan?” Careful to keep her eyes averted, she nervously straightened the bodice of her scoop-necked pink muslin dress.

“Oh, I don’t know. He don’t seem such a bad sort to me. Hand me that other knife, yonder.” Ada leaned across the table, took the knife from Elaina’s grasp, and sat back down. “Man’s always been right polite and helpful. Never seen him step outta line.” She looked up from her cutting, and her eyes danced with mischief. “If’n I was twenty years younger, I might give him a tumble myself.”

Elaina grinned at the older woman and shook her head in disbelief. “Sometimes, Ada, you amaze me.”

The women worked hard all day preparing for the engagement party the following night. By late afternoon it was time for the balance of the kitchen help to return and begin preparations for the hotel’s evening meal. Elaina and Ada had done most of the cooking for the party, and with the foodstuffs other ladies in the community were sure to bring, there was certain to be plenty.

Chuck had promised to send a couple of boys from the mine over in the morning to help hang streamers in the dining room and do the heavy work of rearranging chairs and tables, so all was pretty well in order. Elaina sighed as she covered the last platter of food, glad to be finished and determined to have some time to herself.

“Think I’ll go out back and check on my garden,” she said as she hung her apron on a peg beside the door. Ada nodded and went back to her chores. With a light step, Elaina closed the kitchen door and headed into the late afternoon sunlight and off toward her tiny garden.

Digging in the rich dark earth, watching life spring forth at the touch of her hand had always brought Elaina pleasure. She particularly enjoyed growing the herbs she used in her healing work. With careful scrutiny, she noticed the few tiny weeds that had crept among the plants in just these past few days.

Glad for a chance to feel the sun’s warming rays, she gathered her skirts and headed toward the potting shed at the back of the garden. She couldn’t wait to begin working in the warm, dark soil.

“Mrs. Lowery?”

Ada glanced up from her work and took in the tall, rangy man standing just inside the kitchen door. The dark circles were gone from beneath his eyes and his cheeks had taken on a healthy glow, but his gaze remained wary and reflective. He’d seen plenty of trouble in his day—she’d bet on that. But a lot of men had. Somehow she just couldn’t believe he was as bad as folks made him out. Everyone in Keyserville had heard about the gunfight and the way he’d saved Elaina. ’Course he coulda got her killed just as easy.

“Why, Mr. Morgan, don’t you look fine today. What can I do for you?” She wondered about the thin scar running along his neck, and, as if reading her thoughts, he reached a bronzed hand up to absently finger the mark.

“I’m looking for Elain . . . Miss McAllister. Have you seen her? I wanted to thank her for mending my shirt.”

She remembered Elaina had stitched up the white shirt Morgan claimed was his favorite, tom on his outing to the Colsons’. Done a fine job of it, too.

“Last time I seen her, she was headed out back to her garden. You might look there.” Ada grinned knowingly, recognizing the words for the excuse they were and returned to her work.

Morgan walked out of the kitchen, down the hall, and out into the paling sunlight. The afternoon was dying, but it was still faintly warm and sunny.

Starting with the garden, he searched the grounds, but saw no sign of Elaina. She’d been dodging him, he knew, but he couldn’t really blame her. There was a warm current between them that even Chuck Dawson couldn’t miss. And tomorrow was the engagement party. For reasons Morgan didn’t completely understand, the thought sliced his heart like a blade.

Beginning to worry a little and wondering if he could somehow have missed her in the hotel, he had started back toward the porch when an idea struck him and he returned instead to the garden. A small potting shed stood alone in one comer of the patch. There were no windows, only a door, which appeared to be tightly shut. Dainty footprints in the soft earth led up to the door.

As he got closer, he realized a board had fallen in front of the door and jammed itself between two barrels, effectively blocking the entrance.

He tapped on the door. “Elaina?”

After removing the board from behind the barrels, he lifted the wooden latch and opened the door. Elaina McAllister, knees drawn up beneath her chin, arms wrapped protectively around them, huddled on the cold dirt floor. In her left hand she clutched a metal trowel so tightly her knuckles looked pale. Rocking herself back and forth, she stared straight ahead, her eyes bleak and vacant.

“Elaina?” Morgan called to her softly as he knelt beside her.

She didn’t answer, made no effort to respond.

“It’s Dan,” he whispered, prying the trowel from her fingers. “Are you hurt?” Fear gnawed at his insides. What could have happened to leave her so devastated? So completely helpless?

Elaina had retreated into a world of her own, a dark world filled with mine rats and decay. There was no escape from this world, no way to elude the darkness. Her body felt brittle and damp and ached from the cold. She couldn’t move, could barely force herself to take the next painful, jagged breath. Time held no meaning; there was no time in this dark hell in which she lived. Deeper and deeper she sank, devoured by her all-consuming fear of the blackness that held her with icy talons like those of some unseen predatory beast.

She was in the mine, searching for Ren and Tommy. She could feel the cold seeping through her clothes, even through her shoes. The kerosene lamp she’d brought cast its glow only a few feet into the passage she traveled. It seemed she walked in a tiny island of light in a vast sea of darkness. The tunnel walls took on frightening shapes and faces, like grotesque characters out of a nightmare. She’d never felt more alone in her life. With small, shaky steps, she headed farther into the depths of the mountain.

Terrifying sounds, unearthly sounds, stopped her. With trembling fingers, she held the lamp down near her feet, trying to locate the source of the slithering noises she’d heard, desperately afraid of what she’d see. She heard it again in the rocks to her left, and her heart beat frantically, the pulsing rhythm echoing in her ears as loud as her own footfalls on the rocky tunnel floor. She wanted to run from the darkness and the terror, but she couldn’t. Her trembling legs refused to obey her command.

More noises echoed in the stillness behind her. Her palms were sweating; her lips felt cold and dry. Barely able to control her trembling limbs, she inched slowly forward. Please, God, please help me. Suddenly a movement in the dark drew her attention. A scurrying sound this time, then something heavy touched her foot. Mine rats!

She screamed hysterically, the sound echoing demonically against the walls of the narrow tunnel, and lost her hold on the lamp. Terrified, she ran toward the safety of the entrance only to discover an even greater terror as she fled the circle of light. She was breathing hard again, clutching the wall for support. The tears she’d been holding back fell freely now, dampening her clothes. She was so afraid. She could taste the bile in her throat at the mere thought of remaining in the mine. Fighting her fears as if it were a conquering demon, she used the wall to brace herself, to steady her shaking arms and legs. She couldn’t let Ren and Tommy die. She would try one last time.

A voice, a flicker of recognition penetrated the depths of the darkness. Ren? Where are you, Ren? She glimpsed the sunlight streaming through the open door of the shed, began to whimper, and shiver uncontrollably.

Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, Dan Morgan scooped the girl into his arms and carried her out of the shack. As his long strides moved them toward a grassy knoll, she sobbed softly against his chest. What in God’s name had happened to her? Gently he lowered her to the ground, then sank down beside her, gathering her protectively against him.

“Tell me what happened, Lainey,” he whispered. It tortured him to look at her, to see such anguish on her face. She blinked as the name registered, and her trembling receded, but her arms slipped around his neck and she clung to him as if he were her only chance of escape. As she fought for control, he held her a moment more, stroking her dark hair and whispering soothing words. “You’re all right, Elaina. It’s Dan. Just hang on to me. You’re going to be fine.” When she lifted her eyes to his, several large tears rolled down her cheeks.

He smoothed them away with his fingers and offered his handkerchief. “Are you ready to tell me what happened?”

She shook her head.

“Please, Elaina, you must tell me.”

She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes, unwilling to look at him.

“Please,” he coaxed.

“I’m so embarrassed.” Another tear rolled down her cheek.

“Would you please stop crying and tell me what the hell happened!” he demanded, a little more harshly than he intended.

“That’s just it. Nothing happened. I went into the potting shed to get a trowel, and the breeze blew the door shut behind me. Then the board fell down and I . . . I couldn’t get out.” She swallowed hard and glanced away. “It’s being shut in . . . in the darkness.