"Your fiancée!" Storm clouds filled his eyes. "Who are you talking about?"
"You." She gave him a slight smile, more embarrassment than anything. "I told him we were engaged."
His mouth inched into a grin, and he rushed back to the window. "You're going to marry me?"
"No. I had to tell him something to keep him from grabbing me and taking what he wanted then and there." She wrapped her hands around the bars next to his and he instantly covered them with his own. "I couldn't think of anything else or anyone else to claim as my fiancé, except Dinky Moon."
"So, you aren't agreeing to marry me?"
She lowered her gaze, hating that she might hurt him. "I don't want to marry anyone."
He said nothing, only watched her and rubbed the backs of her hands with his thumbs.
"I'm sorry, Braxton."
"You're frightened," he said. "Why do you fear marriage so much?"
She snatched her hands away. "I don't."
"You damn well fear something to do with it. I can see it in your eyes, Pris. Talk to me. Tell me what it is."
She tensed. "I-I have to go."
Before he could touch her, she pivoted and ran.
Braxton wanted to force his way through the bars and go after her. Damn Mortimer Crane. The man must have scared the bejesus out of her.
At the sound of raised voices in the office, he decided he'd best see if Etta needed help.
"This is my town," Mortimer shouted as Braxton entered the office. "Don't try to tell me what to do or not do with my town. That badge you're wearing carries about as much authority as a dog on the street."
"Why, you pompous…," Etta began. "I was elected—"
"What's going on here?" Braxton moved to stand beside the marshal.
Mortimer gave him a once-over with contempt. "Who the hell are you?"
"Deputy Braxton Gamble." He allowed a slight sneer in his voice. "And you are?"
The man straightened and raised his chin. "Mortimer Crane. I own this town — most of it anyway — and the Gold King Mine."
Braxton huffed. "What's left of it."
"Of all the…" Mortimer balled his fists. "You impudent—"
"Let's calm down, gentlemen." Etta thrust an arm between them. "Mortimer, you said you were looking for my deputy. Here he is."
Mortimer met Braxton's gaze head-on, but took a step back. "You consider yourself engaged to Priscilla Heartsel?"
"Yes, I do. What concern is it of yours?" Braxton almost expected to see smoke blow out of the man's ears.
"Everything to do with this town is my concern. I recommend you mind your business."
Braxton smiled. "Priscilla is my business, and you'd be wise to stay away from her."
His face mottled with rage, Mortimer whirled and stormed out the door, slamming it hard enough it bounced off the wall and nearly knocked itself shut.
Within seconds of his exit, Etta leveled a curious glance at Braxton. "When did you and Pris get engaged?"
"The bastard was manhandling her. She told him we were engaged to get him off her." He took his hat down from a hook and slapped it onto his head. "I'm going over there to find out exactly what he did to her."
"Let me know when you find out."
He rushed out the door, not answering.
He found Priscilla waiting for him. She began talking the instant he stepped inside. "Now, Braxton, I know you're angry and I don't blame you, but—"
"If I'm angry, it's at Mortimer, not you." He took hold of her shoulders, but his touch was gentle. "What did he do to you?"
"I told you." She peered up at him, her mouth quivering enough to tell him she was still badly shaken. "He grabbed me and would have taken liberties if I hadn't lied. I'm—"
"Shh. Don't worry about it, sweetheart." He drew her against him and held her tight. "I'll see to it Mortimer Crane doesn't bother you anymore."
Her arms slid around his waist, and she laid her head against his shoulder. Braxton closed his eyes and savored the feel of her in his arms.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Braxton wanted to kiss her, but she had already had one bad experience with a man today and he didn't want to add to her fear. After planting one gentle kiss on her forehead, he stepped back and urged her onto a chair at the table.
"Can I get you some coffee or tea?" he asked, hunkered in front of her.
She shook her head. "Mortimer says I have to leave here. I have to move out."
"All right. We can handle that." He moved to the chair next to her. "Do you have a place in mind?"
Her glance went to the window as if she could see the other houses in the town from where she sat. Since the church and rectory sat at the far north end of town, she couldn't see much, but he didn't bother to point that out.
That damned Mortimer. Couldn't the man see these women had enough to deal with, and thanks to him, too. It was his fault his mine blew up. Braxton was sure of it. Faulty shoring in the drifts. Mortimer wasn't the first mine owner to try cutting costs that way to the detriment of his men.
"What about the Ridge Hotel?" he asked.
"I have all this furniture." She waved her hand to indicate the contents of the room and beyond. "I'd have to rent four rooms to hold it."
Braxton eyed each piece of furniture. "Do you need it all?"
"Yes, of course. It was…." She paused, and he detected moisture in her eyes. "It belonged to my parents."
"They're gone now, Pris. You have to do what's best for you." Leaning forward with his arms on his thighs, he clasped her hands. "Tell you what, why don't you go on my rounds with me this evening and we'll look at empty houses? The ones on the hill Mortimer doesn't own."
"Oh, I don't know. He might still be out there somewhere."
He stood and drew her to her feet. "I'll be with you, sweet. He can't hurt you."
"All right. I'd like to live near Thalia."
"If you want. I need to get back to work now." He kissed her. "My rounds are at four. I'll come get you then."
"I'll be waiting."
Braxton left but didn't get far. Irish O'Malley and Logan Cash stepped out from between two buildings, guns still in their holsters but death in their eyes.
Chapter Fourteen
The instant the two outlaws stepped into his path from behind the building, Braxton's hand went to his gun. But they already had theirs pointed at his chest. "What do you want? You turning yourselves in?"
"We wouldn't live long if we did that," Irish said.
"What do you mean?" This was his chance to put these two behind bars once and for all, if he could get the drop on them. That would ease the guilt he'd felt ever since that sham of a robbery, and maybe then he'd feel worthy of winning Priscilla's affection.
"Can't trust your marshal, that's what," Logan blurted. "She tried to gun us down today."
Braxton almost choked. "You idiots. What the hell do you expect? You are wanted outlaws, you know."
"So are you, my friend." Irish holstered his six-gun, pulled a paper from his vest pocket and held it out for Braxton to take.
"Don't 'my friend' me," Braxton said, noting as he took the paper that Logan still had his sights on him. What the hell were these two up to now?
Wanted for bank robbery, Braxton Gamble. 25 years old, 6', 160 lbs. Armed and dangerous. Reward $500.
All thoughts of arresting Irish and Logan—all thoughts of almost everything went out of his head. "Good hell. Where did you get this?"
"Off a tree near the main trail to Curdy's Crossing. There were three of them, one for each of us." Irish flashed two more posters.
Braxton crumpled the paper. "This makes no sense. Marshal Fawks took the money back to the bank and cleared my name."
Logan let out a harsh laugh and spat tobacco juice on a rock.
"That's what you think," Irish said. "We figure she kept the money. We thought you were probably in on it, maybe 'cause you and she have a thing going. But the surprise on your face says different.
The real question is, where do you suppose she hid it?"
Braxton's first notion was her bedroom, not that he'd tell these outlaws anything. "I don't know, and I'm not sure I believe you. Any printer could have made these up for a price. I want you two to clear out and don't come back or I'll arrest you for sure."
Irish chuckled. "We ain't going nowhere, Deputy. We're not quite ready to trust you yet."
"Good to know we're on the same page."
After parting with the two outlaws, Braxton headed home, or at least what he called home for the moment — his rented room at Etta's.
He stopped first at the jail and found it empty. A note lay on the desk: Gone to see Buster about horse auction.
Good. Perfect time to search Etta's house and see if Irish had told the truth about the bank not getting the money back. He let himself in and went straight to her bedroom, figuring it the most likely place for her to hide something. He searched drawers, her wardrobe, and under her bed. He even looked under the mattress. No saddlebag. He squatted down to peer under the dresser when he heard a footstep behind him.
Whirling and drawing his gun at the same time, he dove behind the bed.
"Don't shoot me," Priscilla cried, lurching backward.
He peered over the top of the mattress. Hellfire. He almost shot her. Angrier with himself than with her, he shouted, "What are you doing here?"
"I'm looking for Etta." She put her fists on her hips. "You said she told you I could come see her new mirror. What are you doing in her bedroom?"
"Looking for something."
"Ha. I can see that, but what?" She marched over to the dresser and studied the mirror with its beveled edges and little shelves for geegaws. "Since you aren't going to tell me, I'll leave. Don’t bother to come by later."
"Wait, Priscilla."
She turned.
"Irish O'Malley showed me a wanted poster today with my name on it." He jabbed a thumb at his chest. "Mine. It was real, Pris. They had posters on themselves too."
She blinked. "Impossible. You were cleared of the robbery."
"Doesn't look that way. Those posters were new, and Irish thinks the money was never turned in. He thinks Etta kept it."
Priscilla's mouth gaped. "Ridiculous. And you listened to them? That's what you're searching for here, the saddlebag containing the stolen money?"
"I suspect the boys told the truth, Pris. There've been a couple of incidents puzzling me, but if she took the money, they make sense."
"For someone with a wanted poster on him, you're certainly willing to believe everyone else guilty. You should have arrested them." Glowering, she stalked into the parlor. Braxton followed.
"Listen to me, Priscilla."
"No." She poked him with a finger. "You listen. I should go find Etta and tell her—"
"Give me at least a day or two to figure this out, and I'll tell her myself."
She appeared doubtful, but said, "Very well," and rushed out the door, aiming for home.
Relieved at least she wasn't going after Etta then, Braxton returned to his search. He even went through his own room, the stables and the office at the jail, finding nothing.
Had Irish and Logan set him up somehow? Why would they tell him such a story? What would it gain them, unless they truly believed Etta had the money? Besides, those wanted posters were real. The boys would have had to go to a printer to get them made up, and he couldn't quite see them doing that. He needed to sit down and figure this out.
Returning to his room, he took a bottle of whiskey from the side table, popped the cork and took a long drink. A memory came back to him — turning and seeing Etta aiming a rifle right at him. Had she truly seen something behind him? Why shoot him? All she had to do was send him packing instead of giving him a job.
Except, she might have figured keeping him close by would give her a better opportunity to kill him. Had she stolen the saddlebag and decided to get rid of witnesses? If that was true, Priscilla was in danger as well.
Priscilla didn't go home. As soon as she was out of sight of Etta's house, she cut over to Front Street and hurried past the jail, going all the way to Chestnut Road before turning onto Gold Street. Seeing no sign of Braxton, she all but ran to the mayor's office. A sign on the window said she had gone to Salt Lake City and would return Thursday.
At mid-morning on Thursday, Priscilla whirled into Hester's office like a dust devil. She'd had little sleep for two nights, terrified Mortimer would come back, perhaps even break into her house to order her out — or to bed. She'd said nothing more to Braxton about the situation, worried he'd attack the mine owner and wind up in prison.
The mayor sat at her desk, Etta across from her.
"Priscilla!" Hester exclaimed on seeing her. "Is something wrong? You look so wan."
"I haven't slept well," Priscilla rubbed her eyes. "Mortimer came to my house Monday morning and truly frightened me."
Hester bit her lip. "What did he do, dear?"
Priscilla sat next to Etta. "He tried to order me out of my house and said if I don't move, I'll have to start paying rent. He even hinted he'd take something other than money if I were willing."
"The dirty, low-down louse." Etta surged out of her chair and planted her fists on her hips. "He left her house and came straight to the jail to confront Braxton who confirmed he and Pris were engaged."
Hester beamed at Priscilla, a hand going to her grinning mouth. "Lawsy, Lawsy. You're engaged?"
"No." Priscilla averted her face, hating having to admit the lie she'd told. "I said I was, to make him back off, which he did. But what scared me most was him saying he was fed up with us going behind his back and trying to hide things from him like the hot springs."
"Oh, dear." Hester sat down. "He came here this morning too. First thing. Demanded to know what the road crew was doing."
Etta dropped down onto her chair. "What did you say, Hester?"
"I told him I bought land on Wildcat Mountain and have a permit to build a road to access my property." She lifted her hands and let them fall back to the desk top. "I said nothing about the hot springs. He must have gotten it from the road crew or someone else."
"Mortimer's not stupid," Etta said. "He was bound to find out. We knew that from the beginning, and we knew there'd be trouble."
"He can't stop the work, can he?" Priscilla leaned forward, her elbows on the desk.
"We'll beat him at his own game," Etta interrupted. "Somehow. Hire more men, pay bonuses for getting a certain amount of work done in a day."
"How would we pay for that?" Hester asked.
Etta went to stand at the window. "I've never told anyone this, but Charley left me some money. I haven't touched it. I saw it as something to save for a serious emergency, but we can't let Mortimer defeat us." She returned and banged her fist on the top. "We'll use the money to find a way to beat him."
"Lawsy, Etta," Hester said. "You amaze me."
"Me too," Priscilla said. "What a generous gesture to make, to offer your life savings to help finish the road faster."
"Yes, it is. However—" Hester's cheeks turned a delightful pink that made her look younger somehow. "— I'm not sure it's necessary. You see, while I was in Salt Lake… In fact, the reason I went was to see an attorney in case Mortimer tried something like this."
"Oh?" Priscilla, eyes widening.
Etta, too, leaned forward. "What did the attorney tell you, Hester?"
"Well…" A glint of mischief entered her eyes. "I was hoping the two of you, plus Mr. Gamble, would come here this evening at six o'clock to meet him and hear what he has to say for yourselves."
"He's here, the lawyer?" Priscilla's brows rose. "In town?"
"Indeed."
Priscilla shared a glance with Etta and almost laughed, uncertain what to make of Hester's new girlishness. "Of course, I'll come. I can't speak for Mr. Gamble, but I think he will."
"I'll tell him about it when I get back to the office," Etta said. "Didn't this lawyer give you a
n opinion on the matter?"
With a coy tilt of her head, Hester said, "Now, you'll simply have to return at six to find out."
Priscilla stood up. "Very well. I'll be back then."
"Me too," Etta said. "Wouldn't miss it."
Priscilla hurried home to find Braxton waiting for her.
"You look excited." He braced his hands on his hips. "You didn't go see Etta, did you?"
"I saw her but said nothing about you." She told him about the attorney and the invitation to be at Hester's office that evening.
With a shrug, he let his arms drop to his sides and smiled. "I guess we'll explore houses later then."
"Yes."
He stepped closer. "Pris, thank you for trusting me. One thing I didn't tell you was that Etta almost shot me up at the mine when we were looking for Irish and Logan."
"She what?" Priscilla stared at him.
"She said she thought she saw something move behind me, and I accepted that at the time, but now, with what Irish and Logan said, I can't help but wonder."
"Oh, my." She reached for a chair and sat down. Could he be right? Surely not. But she'd give him the chance she'd promised him and let him find out for himself he was wrong.
She glanced at the clock. "It's four now. Would you like something to eat before we go to Hester's?"
He pulled out a chair at the table. "Never turn down a good meal."
Promptly, at six o'clock, the meeting at Hester's office began. She told about her trip to Salt Lake City and introduced an attorney, Cornelius Owen Vaile.
Priscilla estimated Cornelius Vaile's age at thirty-nine or forty. A year or two younger than Hester, but what did that matter? A handsome, distinguished-looking attorney, clean-shaven, with raven black hair and brilliant blue eyes, she quite liked him.
"What handsome clothes," Thalia, seated next to her, whispered. She had come to see Priscilla as she and Braxton were leaving, and Priscilla had invited her along.
"I noticed," Priscilla whispered back. "They're obviously tailored and of excellent fabric. I suspect he must be a very successful attorney."
Thalia giggled. "I think he likes Hester."
After Hester's introduction of Mr. Vaile, he stood at the mayor's side and addressed the group.
Priscilla (The Widows of Wildcat Ridge Series Book 1) Page 12