Authors: Kat Martin
Maybe it was just as Ada said. Some things were never meant to be.
“
I may not be back
.”
Now she saw his words for the good-bye they really were. He couldn’t come back, even if he wanted to. In a little over two weeks, he’d be married to Melissa Stanhope, married into one of the wealthiest families in San Francisco. She wondered if he’d think of her, wondered if he’d even remember her name. How many other women had there been in his life? How many more would there be? He’d have money, power, position. Women would dance at his command. Ren Daniels had come a long way in the last nine years.
Allowing the cleansing tears to fall, Elaina sobbed into the pillow until she finally fell asleep, all the crying and the events of the days before having finally taken their toll. She rested fitfully for several hours, until another of Ada’s gentle knocks awoke her.
Sitting up on the old iron bed, she pulled the kerchief from her head, ran her hands through her tangled hair, and as she remembered the newspaper clipping, felt again the searing pain in her heart.
Without waiting for permission, Ada bustled into the room. “I let you sleep as long as I dared,” she said, patting Elaina’s cheek.
Elaina sighed resignedly and straightened the bodice of her dress. She knew she should finish her cleaning, but had little desire to do more than wallow in her misery.
“Truth is,” Ada continued, “I’m afraid I got somethin’ else unpleasant to tell you, so we might as well git to it.”
“God, Ada, what now?” Elaina twisted the folds of her skirt, wondering what could be worse than the news she’d already received.
“Curse blasted men wherever they are,” Ada mumbled. “You’re gonna have to leave Keyserville.”
“Leave! But why, Ada? Where would I go?”
“Henry Dawson ain’t about to let you outta that weddin’. I heard him talkin’ to Chuck in the office while you was up here workin’. He’s plannin’ on bringin’ the preacher over tomorrow. Chuck musta told him what happened between you two. Henry says it just seals the bargain. Says he shouldn’t have let you put Chuck off this long, what with a man’s needs and all.”
Elaina felt stunned. She closed her eyes and sagged against the old iron headboard. Henry couldn’t be serious! How could he possibly expect her to go through with the wedding after what Chuck had done to her? Surely he couldn’t force her to go through with it. But knowing the power the Dawsons wielded, the outlandish gossip he could spread, she wasn’t so certain. Ada was right. She’d have to leave town.
But where would she go? What would she do? As usual, Ada read her thoughts. She handed Elaina a small velvet pouch, heavy with coins.
“I’ve got a sister, Isabelle Chesterfield, out in San Francisco. She’ll take you in till you git yerself settled. I’ll send a wire tellin’ her to expect you. She’s a good woman. You can trust her.”
San Francisco. Just the name twisted her heart. Ren would be there—with his wife. She couldn’t bear it.
“I can’t go there,” she whispered. “That’s where Ren is.”
“You got no choice, honey. Ain’t neither of us got kin anyplace else. At least you’ll be far enough away so’s Dawson won’t find you. Somethin’s beginnin’ to smell fishy about this whole marriage business.”
Elaina barely registered Ada’s words. She would be leaving Keyserville, doing the very thing she’d tried to avoid. But what did she really have to lose? And what would happen to her if she stayed? A marriage to Chuck Dawson was out of the question. Ada was right. She had no choice.
The older woman helped her to her feet. “There’s a train westbound this afternoon. You best be on it, honey.” Elaina hefted the pouch. “How can I take your money, Ada? You’ve worked for years to save this much.” Elaina remembered the debts she already owed and for a moment
thought maybe marrying Chuck was still the best solution for all concerned.
“You’ll pay me back when you get out west. There’s lots of opportunity there. I’m content right here, and who knows? Maybe I’ll visit you both someday.”
Elaina choked back tears and hugged the older woman. “You’re the best friend I’ll ever have.”
Ada hugged her back. “Come on, now. We got a heap to do if we’re gonna git you outta here this afternoon.” Elaina slipped Chuck’s garish engagement ring from her finger with a trembling hand. “I was planning on returning this in person; now you’ll have to do it for me. I don’t want to be any more indebted to the Dawsons than I already am.” Ada only nodded.
The wheels chanted their monotonous, melodic song as the train rumbled inexorably across the plains. The steady rhythm lulled Ren Daniels, scattering the last of the cobwebs from his mind. The first-class car wasn’t crowded, though the coach class down the way was filled to capacity. He’d been resting in the plush velvet seats of the Pullman Sleeping Car by day; the seats were converted into comfortable berths at night.
He’d kept to himself for seven days, willing himself to remember, recalling more about his past with every passing hour. In the last few days, he’d been blinded by the deluge of bits and pieces. When he finally fit the puzzle together, he almost wished he hadn’t.
He was struck by the enormity of his guilt. He’d left Elaina McAllister, the woman who had saved his life, alone in Keyserville to face the wrath of the very men he’d vowed to destroy. On top of that, he’d seduced her—played up to her sympathies, conned her into is bed, and taken her virginity. Ren was never easy on himself, but this time his self-disgust was almost more than he could bear.
He stared out the window of the train. Barren tracts of land broken only by sagebrush and an occasional yucca or century plant were all he’d seen for the last twelve hours. The steam engine roared past an Indian wickiup, and two scrawny brown-skinned children ran smiling from the hut to watch the massive black locomotive chug by.
Memories of Elaina, their days in the sunshine, the feel of her skin beneath his hand, flooded his mind. He remembered their night together, the sweet taste of her lips, the feel of her hard-tipped, upturned breasts pressing against him. Shifting in his chair, he fought to cast his thoughts in another direction and ease the swelling in his breeches.
He damned himself for wanting her again. He was engaged to be married, and Elaina was not the kind of woman to trifle with a married man. A fresh wave of guilt swept over him as he remembered the way he’d plotted to seduce her. He drew some comfort from the knowledge that Elaina had wanted him just as much as he’d wanted her, but it wasn’t enough.
Settling himself deeper against the seat, he dozed fitfully, his mind tormented by thoughts of his marriage to Melissa Stanhope just a little less than two weeks away, and again his conscience pricked him. He had betrayed not only Elaina but the woman he was engaged to as well.
He had to admit Melissa’s feelings seemed of lesser importance. Theirs was a marriage of convenience, arranged by Jacob Stanhope to “bring new blood into the Stanhope family.” Fidelity was not a condition of the marriage. Considering Melissa’s fragile constitution, Ren was certain he’d be forced to keep a mistress to satisfy his lusty needs.
That wouldn’t have been the case with Elaina. His stomach tightened. If only things could have worked out differently. But there was Jacob Stanhope to consider. Jacob had been like a father to Ren from the first day they’d met, over five years ago.
Ren glanced back out the window. The squalor of a squatter’s shack, the sun-baked skin of the woman washing clothes in front of the house as the train roared by, sent his thoughts tumbling into the past. Ren was not a stranger to poverty. After he left Keyserville nine years ago, he and Tommy had wandered aimlessly from town to town. Just finding enough scraps of garbage for food had been an all-day chore. There were few odd jobs in the East; the area was moving toward a depression. Since Ren was determined to leave the mines forever, he and Tommy headed west.
Ren remembered all too well mucking out the livery stable, sweeping the floors of the saloon, emptying spittoons— whatever it took to earn enough money so he and Tommy could eat. Ren had been gone from Keyserville six months when he landed a job sweeping floors at McClintock’s Saloon in Hays, Kansas. It was the best job he’d had since he left Pennsylvania.
“Hey, kid! You there, with the broom!” Si Wilkins, the new saloon manager, had begun giving orders like an army sergeant the minute he’d walked through the door. Pete Simmons, the man who’d hired him, had been a decent sort to work for, but Wilkins was a bully and a fool. Ren had worked long, hard hours in the mines of Carbon County, but the other miners had respected him. Here things were different.
Ren could barely control his temper. “My name’s Daniels, Mr. Wilkins. Ren Daniels.”
“Yeah? Well, who cares? Just git over there and clean up that mess!” Wilkins pointed to the floor with a meaty hand.
Clenching his teeth, Ren did as he was told. A drunken cowhand had littered the boards with hard-boiled egg shells. Ren finished sweeping them up just as a slapping sound pulled his gaze to the saloon’s double doors. Sunlight streamed in from behind the tall, well-dressed man who entered. The bar quieted, something just short of awe settling over the saloon. As the newcomer moved farther into the room, Ren could make out a powerfully built man with shoulder-length brown hair. He was immaculately dressed in an expensive black suit. Two Colt revolvers, worn butt forward, hung a little below his waist.
“Hello, Mr. Hickok. What can we get for you today?” Wilkins’s manner was simpering as he rushed behind the bar to tend Hickok’s needs.
“A whiskey. And bring me a glass of water while you’re at it. Getting warm outside already.”
Wilkins couldn’t move fast enough. As Ren worked, he heard two men whispering beside him.
“That’s Bill Hickok, fastest gun this side of the Missouri. Man’s greased lightning. Heard tell he drawed one gun on a man in front of him, while he fired the other over his shoulder at a man behind. Kilt ’em both. Ain’t many men ’round these parts don’t give plenty of respect to Marshal Hickok.”
Wild Bill Hickok. Ren had read stories about him in discarded day-old papers. A write-up a little over a year ago in
Harper’s New Monthly Magazine
by Colonel George Nichols particularly came to mind.
“Hey, Hickok!” A burly man at the back of the bar shoved his chair aside. “You as fast as you claim?”
The piano player ended his tune abruptly, and people quietly stepped from between the two men.
Hickok looked unruffled. “Friend, I’d advise you to sit back down if you’re plannin’ on seeing the sun set.”
“I think you’re all talk, Hickok.” He flipped his coattail out of the way and rested a hand on the butt of his Remington .44.
Hickok just smiled. The burly man went for his weapon, but it never cleared his holster. Hickok’s hand, faster than the eye, pulled a revolver, thumbed the single-action hammer, and fired. The man flew back against the wall and slid to the floor, smearing a trail of blood from the exit wound in his back. Blood erupted from the wound in his chest. Hickok holstered his weapon, leaving a patch of acrid blue powder smoke to hover in the air. Ignoring the dead man on the floor, he moved back to the bar and casually finished his drink.
“Some folks never learn how to be friendly,” the marshal said to no one in particular.
“Hey, kid,” Wilkins called over to Ren. “Git that slime outta here.”
With the help of another onlooker, Ren dragged the man’s body into the alley behind the saloon. Word traveled fast in a town like Hays. Hickok had added another notch to his gun. The undertaker had already been summoned.
As Ren walked back inside, he’d known, for the first time, how he would make his way. A gun could win him the respect he so badly wanted from the men around him and earn him a good living to boot.
The whoosh of steam and the clanking of metal against metal jarred his thoughts back to the present. The train braked for a flock of sheep crossing the tracks ahead. A shepherd, floppy-brimmed hat pulled low, worked beside two collies to keep the herd from straying.
In minutes the train was past the flock and roaring full tilt across the barren landscape. Ren glanced down at his suntanned hands: fingers long and fine but not delicate, grip solid and sure. Firm hands, capable hands. Even as a boy he’d been good with his hands.
After he became a gunman, money was no longer a problem. He and Tommy were able to live in grand style: good food, good clothes, and for Ren, good women. But he was no fool. He could see where the violent path was leading. Though he took only those jobs he believed in, helped only those whose interests were within the law, he vowed to save enough money to abandon Dan Morgan—the identity he’d adopted—at the first opportunity.
Seven years later, with the ongoing help of Jacob Stanhope, he succeeded. He became Ren Daniels again. A wealthy, respected businessman. Dan Morgan had quietly disappeared—or so Ren thought—until he received the letter from Redmond and Dawson seeking Morgan’s ser-vices to quell the unrest at the Blue Mountain Mine. It was a coincidence—and an opportunity—he had been unwilling to pass up.
Now, riding back to his own comfortable identity in San Francisco, he wished for the hundredth time he had.
“She’s gone!” Chuck Dawson threw open the heavy plank door to the quiet interior of Blue Mountain Mining Company headquarters.
“What do you mean, gone? Gone where?” Dolph Redmond swiveled his chair in Chuck’s direction, apparently unwilling to acknowledge the distressing turn of events.
Henry followed Chuck into the room, and the two men proceeded to tell Redmond all they knew of Elaina’s disappearance.
“We’ll git her back, Dolph. Don’t you worry,” Henry Dawson soothed as he leaned across Redmond’s desk.
“You’d better, my friends, you’d better.”
Chuck recognized the threat in Dolph’s words. He looked broodingly toward his father. “If you had forced the marriage two years ago, like I told you, this would never have happened.”
“Yeah, and if you hadn’t been trying to put yer pecker where it weren’t s’posed to be, it wouldn’a happened!”