by D. V. Berkom
Claire and Harry exchanged looks. Claire climbed to her feet and carried the bottle to Peters and gave him a drink. She turned to rejoin Harry when Peters straightened his legs and captured her ankles with his own. Claire tripped and fell to her knees. Peters was on his feet in an instant.
Before Harry could react the outlaw grabbed Claire’s collar and yanked her backward, crushing her windpipe. Fighting for air she grabbed at the front of her collar, trying to rip the fabric as Peters’ arm snaked around her neck and pulled her to him. Something sharp nicked her skin as her hat fell off and her hair tumbled free.
“Well, well, what do we got here?” Peters asked. “A woman. Shoulda known, eh, Harry?”
Claire could feel the fight leaving her—she had to get air, now. Black spots danced before her eyes. Harry had climbed to his feet and was advancing toward them. The look on his face would’ve put the fear of God into anyone—except a man like Peters who was staring at death either way.
“Stop right there or I’ll slit your woman’s throat.”
Harry stilled.
Peters tightened his grip and Claire kicked at the ground, trying to pull in a tiny bit of air. Inside, she screamed for breath, but it was no use.
She tried everything she could think of to loosen Peters’ hold, but her strength waned. Peters pressed the sharp object deeper into her neck, drawing blood. She closed her eyes. Perhaps she would see Josiah and her children sooner than she thought.
The knife.
With her last ounce of strength Claire stretched to reach inside her boot and grasp the hilt of the hunting knife. She unsheathed the blade, and in a reverse arc, brought it down behind her head, stabbing him as many times as she could.
The pressure let up and she sucked in a sweet breath of air. Choking and gasping, Claire crawled away, grateful for the reprieve. Her breathing ragged, she collapsed to the ground, fighting the blackness still threatening to envelop her.
“Don’t do it. It’s cold-blooded murder if you do.” Peters’ voice shook with fear.
Claire opened her eyes and rolled onto her side. Pistol aimed at the outlaw, Harry loomed over Peters, who held his hands up in an attempt to ward off what was coming. Blood covered Peters’ face and shoulder. Claire pushed herself to her knees.
“Kind of like what you did to that innocent family, right?” Harry said through gritted teeth. “Did they beg for their lives too?”
“What about the reward?” Peters pleaded. “You kill me and it’s over. They want me alive.”
“I don’t need the damn reward.” Harry growled and cocked the hammer.
“No, Harry—don’t,” Claire gasped.
The bounty hunter paused. “You tell me one reason why I shouldn’t send this piece of shit to hell right now.”
“Look.” She climbed to her feet. “I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me.” She put her hand to her neck. Her fingers came away wet, but the blood was minimal. Not nearly as much as what covered Peters.
“He intended to. In my book that’s the same thing.” Harry stared at the outlaw, the rigid set of his body reminding her of a coiled rattlesnake before the strike.
“Harry. Don’t. Let the law take care of him.”
Peters stayed silent, his innate common sense likely telling him not to tangle with the man and his gun.
Harry narrowed his eyes as he stared down Peters. Claire didn’t know what else to say to keep him from shooting.
A moment later his stance shifted. The tension eased and his shoulders relaxed. “All right.” He nodded. “We’ll do it your way. For now.” He pulled a length of rope from his pocket. “Here.” He handed her his gun. “You keep this on him while I tie him up.”
Claire aimed the pistol at Peters. “What’d he use to get free in the first place?”
“That piece of shale over there.”
The rock lay several feet from the outlaw. “I thought we made sure to remove it all,” Claire said. Both she and Harry had swept the area free of anything sharp that could be used to cut the ropes.
“My guess is he beat us to it.”
She made sure to kick the sharp stone far away from Peters as Harry corralled his hands behind him and wrapped his wrists several times with the rope. Then she and Harry hauled him back to the tree and wound several lengths of rope around his chest. Claire tied his ankles together for good measure. She wiped off the blood covering his face and shirt to check the knife wounds. None were life-threatening. As long as they delivered him to Tucson before infection set in, he’d live.
Claire decocked Harry’s revolver and handed it back to him. He ran his thumb over the cut on her neck. Claire held his gaze. Something in their depths shifted and he stepped back.
“I’ll take first watch,” he said in a gruff voice.
“All right.” Claire frowned at the change in his demeanor but decided to let him work things out on his own. Still shaky from the attack she laid out her bedroll and slipped between the blankets. Sleep was hard to come by.
Chapter 23
Claire woke Harry at sunrise with a cup of fresh coffee. She’d taken the early morning watch, eager for him to catch up on his rest. He’d been gruff at the changeover but she’d chalked up his bad mood to the early hour and lack of sleep.
Harry accepted the coffee with a grunt and nothing more. She busied herself breaking camp and saddling Rose. Then she stowed some of the gold bars in each of Harry the mule’s saddlebags, careful to even out the weight so that it could carry Peters as well.
The mule balked at the extra weight. Claire shifted a couple of bars but the animal brayed in protest.
“Shh, Harry,” she soothed. “It’ll be all right.” The mule quieted, but by the look in its eyes she could see she was in for a fight. With a sigh she pulled out the bars and turned to put them back in the box.
Harry stood not two feet from her, an irritated look on his face.
“What?” she asked. She hoped he’d say something, anything to help her understand his mood, but his demeanor suggested a coolness that hadn’t been there yesterday.
“Did I hear you call the ass ‘Harry’?”
Claire grinned sheepishly. “You have to admit the name kinda fits.”
Harry didn’t say anything as he attached his bedroll to the back of his saddle.
“Oh, come on, Harry. I meant it as a joke.” She looked from Harry the mule to Harry the man. “Mule-headed? Get it?” But Harry remained silent, his expression stern.
Claire stepped in front of him and crossed her arms. “Why aren’t you talking to me?” she demanded. “Did I do something wrong?”
Harry sidestepped her and slid his rifle into the scabbard.
Frustrated, she moved in front of him again. “What do I have to do to get you to say something?”
Harry stopped what he was doing and without looking at her replied, “We need to get Peters to Tucson. After that we split the gold and go our separate ways.”
Claire’s breath caught. “What? I thought—I thought we were...” What had she thought? He’d never said anything to make her believe he wanted anything more than what they’d shared in the hot springs.
Harry answered her, his voice low. “You thought wrong.”
Hurt and anger scrambled for dominance in Claire and she clenched her fists, digging her nails so deep she came close to drawing blood. How dare he treat her like that? Her cheeks warmed with anger and shame. The thought of getting her Peacemaker crossed her mind, but she decided against it. He was a man, and no man was worth the noose.
“Oh, I see,” she said, putting an edge to her voice—cold and hard like his heart. “You got what you wanted and now you think you can cast me aside. Well, I’m here to tell you, Harry Sparks, I wouldn’t give you the time of day if you were the last man on God’s green earth.” Afraid of the depth of her anger she stalked away before she could lose control.
Peters watched the exchange with a grin. “I’d be more than happy to take his place, Claire, darlin’. Loo
ks like you’re in need of a real man.”
Claire rounded on him, her rage at a boil. “Shut the hell up, Peters,” she snarled, and punched him in the face.
Peters yelped and struggled to grab his nose with his bound hands. Blood poured down his face. “You broke by dose,” he screamed.
“If you don’t shut up I’ll break more than that,” she growled, shaking her hand from the pain.
Harry ignored them both and brought the mule to the travois they’d built the day before. The animal balked as Harry attempted to back it up to the carrier.
With some satisfaction Claire watched him try to harness the stubborn animal with little success. Finally she relented and picked up the opposite pole. Without a word they moved the travois into position and attached it to the mule’s tack. Then, still not speaking, they hoisted the box filled with gold and settled it on the frame. Harry secured the crate to the frame and covered it with a blanket, which he bound to the box with more rope.
Claire finished loading Rose and handed Peters a rag to stem the bleeding. He gave her a murderous look, but she was past caring. As soon as Harry tied Peters to the mule, they headed for Tucson.
As far as Claire was concerned they couldn’t get there soon enough.
It was early evening before the trio reached Tucson. Thankfully one of the assay offices was still open, and they dropped off the gold to be tested. Peters hadn’t shut his mouth for the first several miles. Claire had grown tired of his blathering on about how he was going to bring charges against Claire, and that he deserved a share of the gold for giving them the map. Evidently Harry had enough of him too and gagged the outlaw. The bounty hunter had kept to himself, and Claire obliged him, her hurt and anger at his coldness filling her with a burning desire to take her leave as soon as practicality allowed.
They made their way along the dusty streets of Tucson past squat adobe buildings and the new gaslights that had recently been installed. Even though it was one of the biggest cities in the Arizona Territory, the town still had the same feel as a Mexican village she’d visited with Doc the autumn before.
Harry secured Peters at the Pima County jail for the night. Harry was to meet with the marshals in the lobby of Porter’s Hotel the next day before boarding the train for the trip to Yuma Territorial Prison. Citing business to attend to elsewhere in Tucson, Harry left Claire to her own devices. Relieved she didn’t have to endure his sullen demeanor, Claire took a room, had an early supper, and retired for the evening.
What had she done to change his attitude so abruptly? Claire lay on her bed and went over what had happened the day prior. He’d been fine after they’d been together. She had assumed they’d talk things through before he left for Yuma. Now, all she wanted to do was leave and never set eyes on the pigheaded jackass again.
The same went for the mule.
Claire spent a restless night tossing and turning but finally fell into a dreamless sleep.
Loud voices in the hall woke her. Sun streamed in through her window, telling her it was later than she’d like. She bounded from her bed and threw on her clothes before rushing out the door.
The morning was a warm one with clear blue skies, promising a hot day ahead. Claire shaded her eyes as she and Rose approached the assay office. There weren’t any horses tied to the hitching post in front. Perhaps she beat Harry. She couldn’t remember when he said the train was due to leave—she thought it might have been midmorning, which was still an hour or so away.
She entered the low-ceilinged adobe building and walked over to the man behind the counter. He looked up from his task, his round eyes magnified behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. A boy of about seven hid behind a table and peeked out at her, his brown eyes wide as saucers.
“May I help you?” he asked. The nameplate on the counter read W. Jacobs, Esq.
“Mr. Jacobs?”
“Yes.”
“I’m C. Whitcomb. My partner, Harrison Sparks, dropped off fifty bars of unmarked gold yesterday evening. I was wondering if you’d had a chance to determine its worth?”
Jacobs’ eyebrows shot up. “Indeed I have.” He paused, evidently considering how he should address her.
“Mrs. Whitcomb,” Claire prompted.
He nodded. “Mrs. Whitcomb.” Emboldened, the young boy crept closer to Claire but ran back behind the table when she smiled at him. Jacobs waved at the child. “Elizondo, vamos!” With a giggle Elizondo disappeared into the back room. Jacobs put down his tools and gave her a serious look. “The gold Mr. Sparks brought in is some of the purest I’ve ever assayed. How did you come across it, if I may be so bold?”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to leave that story for Mr. Sparks to tell. I’m on my way out of town and need to pick up the certificate for my portion.”
“But Mr. Sparks has already been by.”
Claire tensed and narrowed her eyes. “When was that?”
“Earlier this morning.” Jacobs pulled a thick envelope from under the counter, which he handed to her. “He left you this.”
Claire took the bulky envelope that was addressed to her. Inside was a bundle of bank notes and nothing more. She rifled through them, mentally calculating the amount. A small fortune. She glanced at Jacobs who watched her with interest. “Is this all he left?”
Jacobs nodded.
“Did he ask you to give me a message?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
Claire nodded. That was it, then. Harry obviously didn’t want to chance meeting her that morning. He and Peters were probably already on the train headed for Yuma.
“The bars are reminiscent of a cache of gold an explorer found near Lima, Peru several years ago,” Jacobs offered. “I was fortunate to have witnessed the assay.”
“Were you able to determine its provenance?”
Jacobs shrugged. “Without corroboration no one knows where it came from. Given the history of the area it was most likely gold taken from the native tribes by the Spanish and melted down for transport.”
“I wish I could help you with the story,” Claire said, “but it appears you know more than I do.”
She thanked Jacobs and left. At least Harry had been fair. He could have taken all the money.
Well, Claire, she thought, you learned another valuable lesson. Just because you feel something for someone doesn’t mean they’ll return the same. It wasn’t like she’d had a lot of experience with men. She’d married Josiah at seventeen and become a mother within the year. Doc was the only other man she’d been with, and that hadn’t turned out very well. At least they’d parted as friends.
Claire stowed the bank notes in her saddlebag and climbed into the saddle. She glanced at the sky and contemplated where to go next. The thought of the Rocky Mountains tugged at her with a long-buried yearning. Had she gained enough distance from the terror of the “Whitcomb Massacre” so that she could return? She’d like to see Thomas and Mart again, as well as Augusta Tabor and Esther. Perhaps she was ready to go back. If she got there and the memories were too fraught with ghosts, she could always leave and try someplace else.
“You ready to go home, girl?” she asked Rose and leaned over to pat the chestnut mare’s neck. As if she understood, Rose nodded her head and whinnied softly.
Chapter 24
Leadville, Colorado – Spring 1882
* * *
Claire finished dressing and gave herself the once-over in the floor-length mirror. Although the corset still took some getting used to, the unfamiliarity of wearing a dress had worn off like an old habit. She still wore men’s clothes when she and Rose went riding but had taken to dressing like the townswomen in order to fit in and go about her business without garnering curious stares. Besides, Leadville had changed since she’d been gone, becoming more civilized and settling down to the day-to-day business of commerce. Certainly the odd shootout happened, usually late at night, but the city was nowhere near the lawless mining town she’d left two years before.
She’d seen Thom
as a few times, but not Mart Duggan. Unfortunately, Mart’s livery business had failed, and he’d taken a job as a deputy south of Denver in Douglass County.
Claire patted the pistol secreted in the pocket of her skirt, then did the same to her hair, tucking an errant strand back into place. She picked up her reticule and was about to leave when there was a knock at the door.
Thinking it might be Esther or Thomas stopping by to ask her to lunch, she smiled and swung the door wide.
Before her stood Harry Sparks. Her breath caught at the sight of the bounty hunter, and the smile froze on her face.
He cleared his throat and fiddled with the hat in his hand. With a look of surprise his gaze wandered from her face to her dress, then back to her face. He’d recently shaved and wore his hair slicked back with pomade in an attempt to corral the unruly curls at the nape of his neck. Claire had to stop herself from staring at his full lips and took a deep breath before letting it go in a rush.
“Harry—”
“Claire—”
They both stopped, waiting awkwardly for the other to speak. When he didn’t say anything, Claire said, “What a surprise.” She smiled, ignoring the feelings that rushed back—a mixture of anger, shame, sadness, and affection, all mixed up with a large dose of confusion. “What are you doing in Leadville?”
Harry worried the brim of his hat and looked at the floor. His face had grown even darker from the sun, giving him an exotic look that brought out the whites in his deep brown eyes. She caught a whiff of cologne, something she’d never in a million years imagine him using.
“I heard someone say you had taken a room here and wanted to pay my respects.”
“Oh? And who might that someone be?” Perhaps he’d looked up the Tabors in an attempt to locate her. Stop it, Claire. Don’t read anything into this. He wouldn’t go that far to find you. This is just a coincidence.
“I read that article they wrote about you in the Daily Star. The Tombstone Epitaph ran the story, too.”