Rapture's Gold

by Rosanne Bittner

  He frowned. “Your store!” His breathing quickened. “I don’t recall selling it, or signing anything!”

  “Oh, I’ve brought papers. And you had no choice in selling it. I happen to know you were going bankrupt. I had it all checked out before I even came to St. Louis. The bank owns everything—not you. So I paid them off. Now, if you’ll just sign the papers I brought, I’ll give you five hundred dollars to tide you over until you find some other source of income.”

  He stepped closer, his fists clenched, but the two men accompanying her stepped forward threateningly.

  “Five hundred dollars?” he hissed.

  “Yes. I think that’s being quite generous, considering I don’t have to pay you a thing—and considering what you did to me a few years ago. I believe there was a time when you gave me no ultimatum, Jimmie dear. Now I’m doing the same with you.” She held out the papers, her eyes suddenly icy. “Take it or leave it!” she said coolly. “Five hundred is better than nothing, isn’t it?”

  He stared at her for several seconds, then grasped the papers. He looked at the men accompanying her. “There must be some kind of law that gives me a couple of weeks to get things together, to try to get a loan.”

  The man smiled. “Sorry.”

  Jimmie stared at him, suddenly getting the whole picture. Harmony had paid them off! That was it! She’d paid them to help her kick him out of his own store! He turned his eyes to the other man, who smiled.

  “I’m Jonathan Brodie, a partner in your own attorney’s law firm,” he informed Jimmie. “There’s no use going to your lawyer, Mister O’Toole. He has already agreed to all of this. I would suggest you go along with Mrs. Tillis. Do you understand?”

  There was a warning look in his eyes that Jimmie understood only too well. So, Harmony had thought of everything. She’d paid off all of the right people. He looked at her.

  “You hate me this much?”

  Her eyes glittered. “Obviously I hate you enough to ruin you, and perhaps to go even farther,” she said threateningly. He swallowed. Realizing she just might do that, he broke out in a sweat as he walked to the counter and began signing the papers, not even really seeing what he was signing. He felt like crying, but he would save that for later. He looked at Harmony with bloodshot eyes and handed the papers back.

  “I…I don’t suppose it would help to tell you…I’m sorry?”

  She folded the papers. “Not in the least.” She shoved the papers into a folder. “Oh, be sure to gather your things at the house, Jimmie. It’s mine now, and I’ve rented it to someone else, including the furnishings. So be sure to take only your personal belongings.”

  His eyes widened. “What! But I…I don’t have anyplace to live! I don’t have a job!”

  “That is your problem, Jimmie dear. I’ve given you five hundred dollars to tide you over.” She looked at the attorney. “Mister Brodie, we almost forgot. Give him the money.”

  Brodie dug into his pocket and handed five bills to Jimmie, who took them with a shaking hand.

  “There now,” Harmony told him. “We’re all settled. Good luck, Jimmie dear. I hope you find something. Just don’t apply here, though. You never did know how to handle this store and I don’t care to employ you, not under these circumstances. You understand, of course.”

  Their eyes held in mutual hatred. “Of course,” he replied curtly.

  “Fine. Now if you will hand me the keys to the store, we’ll all leave…you first.”

  In a near daze, he went behind the counter to get the keys. Then he handed them to her and walked out without another word.

  She frowned and shook her head. “Poor Jimmie,” she chuckled. Then she looked up at the two men. “Shall we go, gentlemen?”

  Harmony casually walked along the busy St. Louis street. It felt nice to be back in a civilized city. She and Wade had done what they could to bring some culture to Cripple Creek, but there was something about Western towns that kept them from seeming truly refined and graceful, even Denver. The cities in the West grew too quickly to establish cultural backgrounds. They were all still babies, and they usually died before reaching maturity. She could see that beginning to happen to Cripple Creek, and she and Wade had already begun investing in businesses in Denver, a more stable city.

  She thought about Wade. He hadn’t really been unkind to her, except the one night when he’d had too much whiskey. She knew he didn’t love her, that he’d simply wanted to enjoy her in bed a few times and to reap the benefits of her money. Their marriage was a fake, yet it had benefited both of them. It did give her respectability and companionship. After his abusive behavior there had been a few days of angry looks; then they had come to civil terms again; and although he spent most of his time at the Mother Lode, and many of his nights in the upper rooms of that notorious saloon, they remained good friends. He had not touched her since the night she’d told him to leave. She felt a little guilty about that. She was, after all, his wife; and at the moment she was feeling exhilarated over the way she’d handled Jimmie O’Toole. Perhaps when she returned to Cripple Creek she would be more obliging to her husband. Wade Tillis was the only man in her life now, and she was, after all, only twenty. Perhaps she could learn to enjoy his touch. At any rate, she felt like celebrating, and she wanted to thank Wade for letting her come here. They would both have a good laugh over how she had handled things; she knew Wade would toast her victory, again stressing their similarity.

  A little voice deep inside tried to tell her she was nothing like Wade Tillis, that her hardness was all just show, her way of covering up the bitter hurts deep in the recesses of her mind and heart. But that little voice was muffled by her determination to get revenge, and her belief that security lay only in money and power. She had that now. No one could hurt Harmony Jones again. She had been a sweet and giving and trusting woman only once; she had experienced real love only once. It had brought her the worst heartache and depression she’d ever known, and there was no man she hated more than Buck Hanner.

  She walked into a store that sold both men’s and women’s hats and began to try a few on. It was then she saw him, reflected in the mirror, his back to her. Broad shoulders, cotton plaid shirt, and thick, sandy hair. From the back he looked so much like…

  She turned, setting down the hat she held. The man was paying a clerk as Harmony rose, her heart pounding. She hated him, didn’t she? If she did, why was this terrible, heated flutter making her feel faint? Why did she suddenly envision falling into his arms? Why did the old Harmony who had loved Buck Hanner surface so quickly and easily? Everything about the back of this man reminded her of Buck Hanner, and fire ripped through her veins.

  He turned around then, frowning a little at the lovely young woman who stared at him as though he were a ghost. “Ma’am? Anything I can do for you?” he asked.

  It was not Buck. She felt like crying. What had made her think she would casually run into her old lover in the streets of St. Louis? Surely he was out on the plains of the Dakotas, or maybe in Texas, running his fine ranch. Her cheeks reddened.

  “I…no. I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I thought…you were someone else.”

  The man smiled, a pleasant smile but not nearly as handsome as Buck Hanner’s. His teeth were not as white and even, his eyes were not the beautiful sky blue that Buck’s were. He nodded to her and walked out the door, and Harmony grasped the counter for support. She stood there a moment, regaining her composure, before she managed to move her legs to walk out the door.

  The day was spoiled now. She’d been cruelly reminded of Buck Hanner, sharply made aware of the fact that she was not over him at all. Perhaps she never would be. She blindly called a carriage and half stumbled into it, directing the driver to take her to her hotel. Minutes later she descended from the equipage, and made her way to her room. In its privacy, she collapsed onto the bed and wept.

  Buck! Why? Why had he left? Again the tiny voice warned her he never would have done so deliberately. But everyo
ne she loved and depended on had left her. That was what was so pleasant about Wade Tillis. She didn’t love or trust him, so it didn’t matter if he left. But Buck! She’d been so sure she was over him, that if she ever saw him again she could look him straight in the eyes and flaunt her new marriage and her wealth. She realized she must train herself, keep her senses and realize she might someday see Buck Hanner again, and if she did she must be ready for it. She must hurt him in any way she could, and never show her own hurt.

  Still, this encounter with someone who merely resembled Buck had undone her. She was angry with herself for reacting as she had, for thinking she could still love Buck Hanner even a bit. How could she be such an ignorant fool?

  She turned on her back and stared at the ceiling, tears running down the sides of her cheeks. She would be nice to Wade when she got back. Maybe that would help. She got revenge on Buck Hanner by taking Wade Tillis back to her bed and learning to enjoy being intimate with him. There was nothing wrong with that. After all, they were legally married. Why did she feel like a bad woman when she was in bed with her own husband? She had not felt that way when Buck Hanner had bedded her, and she and Buck had never even married. Yet he had told her they were married, in mind and heart. Maybe that was it. She had never “divorced” Buck Hanner. He still owned her, even though he’d never married her and had run out on her. He was the only man who had awakened her true passions and desires. Apparently there were two kinds of marriages: the legal ones, without love; and the ones with love but no legal papers.

  How long she lay there, she wasn’t certain, but finally she sat up and walked over to the dresser, sitting down and staring into the mirror. So, in her mind and heart she was still married to Buck Hanner. That was the problem. She would simply have to forget him, erase him from her mind and heart, learn to face facts. She took out a handkerchief and wiped at her eyes and nose, angry that she had let herself cry over a man who had been so cruel to her. At least Wade had not done that. She would go home to Wade, and she would be a wife to him. She would let him erase Buck Hanner from her soul.

  She became aware of fire bells then, which she had been hearing for more than an hour. She walked to the window of her room. Several blocks away black smoke curled. She frowned. It was in the area of her supply store. But she was too tired to bother to go and check on it. When there was a fire, it was best to stay away. She walked back to the bed and sat down, wondering what Jimmie had done with himself since she’d kicked him out of the store the night before. She smiled at the memory of the look on his face—so shocked and devastated. That was good. She liked that. She began removing her shoes. She liked the power she had now. If she could just find a way to use it against Buck Hanner someday, she’d be happier. Perhaps she should hire men to search for him. Perhaps she could find Buck’s ranch and figure out a way to ruin him.

  She had just taken off her shoes when a knock sounded. She lifted her dress and walked on bare feet to the door, hesitating before opening it. “Who is it?”

  “Police, ma’am.”

  She unlatched the door and opened it a crack. “Yes?”

  “We came to tell you, ma’am, that a store you just purchased is on fire. One of the employees who came running out gave us your name, said you’d just hired him and several other people and that you’d be here a few days yet.”

  She opened the door wider. “Is it bad?”

  The two policemen removed their hats. “I’m afraid so, ma’am,” the spokesman replied. “It’s going right to the ground. The firemen are working hard to save the buildings beside it. And…uh…we think it might have been set deliberately.”

  She frowned and motioned for them to come inside. “Deliberately?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Some man came there all drunk, according to the employee. He was bragging about how he’d once owned the store and still did as far as he was concerned. The young man stormed toward the back of the store, and the next thing he knew, there was a fire. The firemen dragged a body out later. It was burned pretty badly, but the man had probably died from inhaling too much smoke. The employee told us it looked like the man who’d come storming into the store earlier. He thinks that man set the fire on purpose, then got caught in his own flames. We took identification from him. His name was Jimmie O’Toole. You know him?”

  Her eyes remained cold. At last—the ultimate revenge! “I knew him once. I came here a few days ago to buy the store. He was quite upset, but I can’t help that.”

  The policemen waited for some sign of remorse about what had happened to O’Toole, some voiced pity. But Harmony did not refer to O’Toole.

  “Well,” she declared, holding her chin high, “I’ll just have to have the store rebuilt, won’t I?”

  Buck threw water across the deck of the merchant ship and began to mop, watching his guard out of the corner of his eyes. This was the first time in months he’d been allowed on deck and freed of iron cuffs, the first time since he’d tried to escape when they’d docked in San Francisco. He didn’t want to be punished as he’d been then. Such pain and torture was not something easily forgotten. His back and legs would forever bear the scars of the brutal lashing he’d suffered, and how he’d lived through the ensuing infections and filth and near starvation he didn’t know, except for his dreams of the mountain…and Harmony.

  Every bone and muscle in his body raged with a need to get away, to get to Harmony and explain, whatever her circumstances were now. Even if he could not have her back, he had to tell her what had happened so she wouldn’t think he’d abandoned her as others had done. His determination to prove himself, and his love for her, kept him going when other men would have succumbed.

  For over two years he had lived in this hell, watching others around him die terrible deaths. He’d endured whippings and humiliation, filth and backbreaking work, wormy bread and brackish water. His strength came from his enduring determination not to die, but to live and to escape, face Tillis again and watch the man pale with fear before he killed him with his bare hands. That he would surely do.

  He was thin now, and not very strong. It would take weeks of eating good food and of resting before he could begin to resemble the old Buck Hanner. He had lost a lot of other things that had been a part of the old Buck Hanner too: his casual attitude toward life, his gentle side, his easygoing nature. There had been only ugliness in his life for too long, too much brutality, too much pain. The only beauty left was a memory—of a mountain, and of a beautiful girl with blonde hair.

  Somehow he had to touch land again, to live like a normal human being. He had to find his precious Harmony. Land! People! The mountains! How sick he was of ships’ holds and the stench of mold and the sea. He was not made for such a life, nor was he made to be another man’s servant, treated like a pig, beaten for every wrong move. Seldom was there a chance for escape, for most of the time he was at sea, but here, on deck, docked in San Francisco, he had his first chance in months. San Francisco! America! He was home, and he was determined that this time he would not leave this land, even if he had to remain here as a corpse.

  He looked at his guard again. A huge man with bulging muscles, he was well fed and in much better physical shape than Buck. But Buck Hanner’s driving desire for freedom would give him strength. He slowly worked the mop, grateful that the docks were bustling with activity. The movement often took the guard’s eyes from him. He looked down the dock and saw several gaudy women approaching. He grinned. If ever there was a good diversion, it was women, especially after a man had been at sea for months. He would have taken pleasure in watching them himself if he hadn’t had more urgent matters to deal with. He waited until the women came closer, cautiously watching his guard as the man’s eyes strayed to them. Obviously they were whores looking for customers, hungry men from the sea who would pay a fortune for their first night with a woman in months. The women wore bright dresses, cut low to reveal an abundance of cleavage, and the guard watched them like a hungry wolf, ogling them as they went by.
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  Never had opportunity been riper. Why it seemed so easy, Buck wasn’t sure. Perhaps God was helping him, although he’d stopped praying a long time ago. He would have to move fast, very fast. He swung the mop hard, its metal clamp landing on the guard’s temple and sending the man reeling. Instantly Buck jumped over the side, and just as quickly several more guards ran to the rail and began firing into the water.

  Buck desperately swam deeper under water, aware that bullets were skimming the water all around him. He hadn’t had a chance to take a good deep breath, nor was he strong enough to swim very far. He headed in the direction of the docks, keeping under water as long as possible and finally coming up for air beneath the wet, wooden docks.

  He could hear running and shouting overhead. Some of the guards had disembarked and were running up and down the dock, waiting for him to emerge. He soundlessly sidestroked to a concrete wall, then hung on to a slippery post jutting out from it. Gasping for air, he slipped very quietly along the wall, keeping far back under the docks. Whenever the footsteps were right overhead, he dived, continuing to feel his way along the concrete wall, his heart beating with excitement. He was escaping this time. Home! He was home, in America! If he could just get through this, he would go back to Colorado, to the mountains, to Harmony!

  When he came up for air again, he spotted part of an old boat, half its small hull still intact, which had drifted up under the dock. He headed for it, turning it over his head, creating a pocket of air but hiding himself. He stayed beneath the remains of the hull for what seemed like hours, until it was finally dark. Then he worked his way farther down the docks. He felt like a shriveled prune, and he was shivering from the cold of the water and chilly night. He had on nothing but his trousers now for he had slipped off his boots shortly after he’d hit the water. He kept moving until he knew he was well away from the hated ship, at least a half mile, he thought.

  Darkness brought safety. Taking courage from the dim light and the fewer people on the docks, Buck moved cautiously toward the edge of the pier. Grasping at the overhead boards, he slowly moved out, hanging on to the ends of the boards and raising his head. He almost laughed aloud, for no one was in sight. He knew his own ship was due to make for the sea by early morning. They’d not spend a lot of time searching for one man. They’d gotten their money’s worth and then some out of Buck Hanner anyway.