Chance arrived just in time for the guests to be called to the dining table; he was dressed, as always, impeccably. Fancy had not seen the suit he was wearing before, nor the tie and boots. A knot tightened her stomach... he not only had somewhere else to stay, but it was someplace intimate enough that he kept extra clothes there. The realization disoriented her; she'd thought Chance's infidelities as casual and heedless as everything else he did.
"Evening, sugar," Chance greeted her smoothly. He nodded to Jason. "Sorry to be late, but some things came up and needed to be attended to.
"Seems Jason here has everything well in hand," he said, reaching to take his wife's arm from Madigan's to lead her in to dinner. But Fancy stiffened and held fast to Jason's arm, which she felt tighten as she did so.
Chance's eyebrow rose expressively; a look, half amused, half arrogant, curved his mouth and glinted in his eyes. He shrugged as if it were of no consequence, turned abruptly, and preceded them through the doorway, to take his place at the head of the table. Pointedly, he turned his charm on the lady seated to his left and Fancy, desperately wounded, shocked, and furious, needed all her acting talents to handle the remainder of her party.
Just after the last guest departed, Chance did too.
He stood for a moment outside his own front door, struggling for equilibrium, the hurt of it searing a hole in his gut... Fancy and Jason. Her old lover. The one man in the world powerful enough to lure her away—of course, she'd go for the money and the power; what a fool he'd been to think she'd be sitting home pining for her lost husband.
How could she not know how much he loved her? How could she not see that he'd tried to understand her needs and her moods and her endless insecurities, through all the years. This time, he had a premonition there would be no mending of the fences that separated them.
Fancy cried very quietly until there wasn't a tear left anywhere inside her. How many years had it taken for their precious love to come to this disastrous end? She hadn't been blameless in their endless dance of death... but something irrevocable had happened to her heart this time. She realized, shocked by the revelation, that she no longer wanted to change Chance... no longer imagined she could... he was who he was, and not all the years or tears had changed that one iota. She just didn't want to play this dreadful, hurtful game with him any longer.
So this is the way a marriage ends for good, she thought miserably, staring out the window from her empty bedroom. It just dies of a thousand little wounds and one final big one, too fatal to be forgiven.
Chapter 106
Fancy returned to work with a vengeance. Jewel and Wu saw the hurt she covered up with energy and effort; she spoke little about the dissolution of her marriage. Fancy's fortune waxed as Chance's waned and if that gave her satisfaction, no one ever knew it from her lips. She never even let on to Jewel and Rufus that she knew Chance had named his new mine "The Any Man's Fancy," a fact that occasioned considerable mirth in Leadville.
Aurora was happy to see Chance go, but Blackjack pined for his father so desperately that Fancy arranged to send him East to boarding school. Chance moved into Sam's and tried to get his luck to change; he paid more attention to his business in the three months after leaving Fancy than he had in the previous three years, but it was late in coming and there were problems to be dealt with on every hand. The two big producers were dwindling, the silver lobby in Washington was losing ground, and there were rumblings that when Harrison's term was ended, the gold standard would be adopted. Hart was gone, Bandana was gone, now Fancy, too, had left him and he felt diminished by the losses. It had been easy to consider himself a loner when there'd been no fear of loneliness. Now Chance felt alone in a way he never had before... alone, uneasy, and down deep, in some secret place he hadn't known about before, he felt afraid.
Fancy felt caged, not freed, by Chance's departure. Aurora grew more difficult to handle by the day; she didn't want to go
East to finishing school, she didn't need to work, she didn't seem to have any ambition or real interests, beyond the way she looked. Fancy tended to lose patience with the girl because she was lazy and that was one trait for which she had no frame of reference whatsoever.
Jason wanted to marry her, that was apparent. He'd been kind and helpful since the party, always available when she needed a friend, but she was thankful that divorce hadn't been spoken of, for it gave her a reason to say no to Jason's attentions without offending him.
Chapter 107
Sam took the glass of champagne from Chance's hand and sat down opposite him on the plump white chaise; she'd grown fond of the man and was sorry for the unhappiness that clung to him now.
"You look like you're feeling blue as I am tonight, darlin'," she said. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
Chance leaned back on the leather couch and loosened his tie. He felt guilty being with Sam, but he felt needy, too. He'd thought of taking rooms at Billy Nye's, but there was comfort in having someone to come home to. He saw the irony in this, for when he'd had Fancy waiting for him, he'd spent considerable effort on staying away.
"Business is bad, and life seems to be all out of kilter, Sam. My brother's been gone too long, the mine production is off, I can't unload the properties fast enough to pay the bills, and Fancy is—" He stopped as if realizing it would be bad form to discuss his wife with his mistress.
"Go ahead, darlin'. I don't mind you talkin' about her. If I had to guess, I'd say you're still hung up on her."
"Why?"
"Oh, I don't know, Chance, there's just a certain look you get when she comes into your head. Like you want things to be good for her. I'd feel real honored if any man felt that way about me." She smiled to put him at ease, because she'd grown to care about him, far more than was comfortable to the role she played.
"What's got you so down in the dumps, Sam?" he countered to change the subject. He didn't like to admit even to himself how much he missed Fancy and Blackjack.
She leaned her elbow on the back of the sofa and rested her head on her hand.
"Got a baby sister outside of Macon, you know. Her name's Emma and she's about as good as they get. Churchgoin' and big-hearted. She's got a husband who's a farmer and four kids, another one on the way. I got a letter from her today, Chance. Seems like Seth's took sick and they could lose the farm to the bank. Em didn't say it in so many words, but readin' between the lines, I think it's cancer he's got, because she kept talkin' about God's will and how much she loves him. I think maybe my baby sister's in real big trouble." Sam's voice was huskier than usual.
Chance's frown was full of concern. "I'm sorry, Sam. Really sorry. If money could help them keep their home, I'd be glad to lend a hand. She wouldn't have to know it came from me... you could send it to her."
Sam wiped her eyes and tilted her head to look carefully at the troubled man who sat across from her. "I thought you were hurtin' for money, too, Chance."
His laugh was wry. "I expect I've still got enough money tucked away somewhere to ransom a farm outside of Macon, Georgia. I'm already in debt enough so nobody'd notice a few thousand more. If it'll help your sister out, I'll get you the money tomorrow."
Samantha Southern stared very hard at Chance McAllister's face. She was never entirely sure afterward what made her make the dangerous decision she did, right then and there. But it had been a goodly while since any man wanted to do her a kindness without wanting something in return. Maybe it was that. Or maybe she'd fallen for the guy and just didn't want to see him screwed, blued, and tattooed, like Jason intended.
"I think I just might take you up on that offer, Chance," she said slowly. "And then I think I might need to ask you for enough more than that to get the hell out of Leadville."
Chance looked puzzled by the words and tone. "What are you talking about, Sam? Why would you want to leave town?" it took less than ten minutes to tell Chance everything she knew about Jason's plans for him. She didn't even feel scared after she did it, just pleased with h
erself. It was a long time since she'd had a chance to do a good deed in a dirty world.
The night watchman left Mr. McAllister poring over the ledgers like a man possessed. He'd never seen such concentration, scanning first the books, then the files, then every scrap of paper, like a machine digesting ore. He couldn't help but wonder what kind of slurry would result.
Just shy of sunup, Chance finished the last file. His prodigious memory had cataloged enough information to ferret out the pattern, but it would take the rest of the day to collect the proof of what that son of a bitch had done—systematically tying up his cash assets, subtly moving him away from liquidity, into a major cash-flow bind. No wonder he'd had to borrow, with Jason's helping hand the one always outstretched. It had stretched into every crevice of Chance's businesses. Christ! What kind of Machiavellian patience would make a man spend so many years bringing about another's ruin. It was a game, of course, to Madigan. Making or breaking a man's life was nothing more than a series of intellectual poker hands. Chance rubbed the sleep from his eyes and let his head rest for a minute in his hands to think.
He played poker, too, and perhaps there was still time left in the game. There was no need for anyone to know yet, what he knew... not until he could shuffle the deck a little.
Jesus! but he'd been stupid. Even taking into account that he'd been conned by a master, he'd still been rube enough to fall for it.
Not a single one of the foreign investments he'd made were in operation. What good were forests in Honduras if no mahogany had ever been harvested? What good were mines in Mexico if no tin or silver had ever been dredged from them? Not a single one of the mining properties in Montana or Idaho was operating at a profit. Two of the six Leadville properties were already on the market, two were out of ore, and of the big producers, the Last Chance and the Fancy Penny, more and more stock had been siphoned off to pay for the problems that abounded in other areas. The Any Man's Fancy had been jinxed from day one.
Hundreds of thousands of dollars had been spent on investments he'd never even heard of and nearly every piece of property in Leadville was mortgaged to the rafters. By the end of the night,
Chance McAllister finally understood exactly what Jason's friendship had done to his life.
Dear Bro,
I've had a shock today—the kind that gets you in the gut and makes the world spin out of control for a minute or two. I've been a fool, it seems, but I've made a plan to rectify that. Best not to put it on paper just yet, though.
Damned near lost Fancy for true, this time. She's been right about a lot of things, bro. In her own way, I guess she's always been my friend. A consummate pain in the ass, too, mind you, but the best friend I ever had, other than you.
Well, there's no time like the present to set things to rights, or at least try to. I guess I'll just have to teach that son of a bitch how to play poker.
Your damned fool of a brother,
Chance
"I need your help, Caz." Chance stood in the living room of Castlemaine's small frame house, feeling awkward that it had been so long since he'd been there. Caz's son Jonathan looked to be about ten years old and there were other children too.
Annie Castlemaine watched the two men stare at each other for a long moment, while her husband made up his mind.
"There's a surprise, mate," Caz said finally; his eyes sought Annie's and a barely perceptible nod of the head moved her into animation. She looked very pregnant, maybe near her time.
"We're pleased to see you, Chance," she said, her soft Irish brogue giving lilt to the simple words. "It's been a long while since you stopped by for a coal for your pipe... too long for friends." She didn't wait for a reply, but headed for the kitchen to put the kettle on the stove.
"No tea, luv," Caz called after her. "From the looks of the man, it's whiskey we'll be needin'."
Relieved by the welcome, Chance sat on the small couch and laid his hat on the floor beside him. Why had it never occurred to him that Caz might be in need, with his growing family and his mine manager's salary? How many other things had not occurred to him? he wondered.
"Now what's the kerfuffle, mate?" Caz asked.
"Jason's out to cut my throat."
Caz nodded.
"I need to cut his first."
"You'll need a big knife for that."
"There's a property he has his eye on over hear Fryer's Hill. I want it seeded... very cleverly seeded, Caz—so it would fool most men, but it won't get by Madigan. I need it to look as if he's being set up, so when he finds out, he'll walk away from the property."
"And you'll buy it?"
"I'll supply the cash and you and I will be partners. There's silver in that part of the mountain... it's a ways down, but I'm staking my life on the fact that it's in there and I need access to some new money for a stake. If there is silver, that mine could put me back in the game."
Caz raised his eyebrows significantly and poured a whiskey for each of them.
"That's a real long shot, mate, and Madigan's sharp as a new ax. How can you be sure we can pull it off?"
"I'm not sure, Caz, not sure of anything. But I can't just lie down and let that bastard win without a fight. I've got to try something."
The two men made their plans far into the night; it wouldn't do to be careless.
When Chance rose to go, Caz followed him out into the small yard. "Does Fancy know the score, mate? There's all kinds of rumors flying around town about you and that nightbird."
"It isn't the way it looks, Caz. I've been a fool about a lot of things, including Fancy, but I mean to make it all square with her. She's tossed me out for the moment, but you know Fancy... she gets mad as a hornet at me, but she's fair at the end of it. She'll see I was a horse's ass, but Jason was a bastard. That'll make the difference."
"I hope so, mate. You two sure as hell lead each other a merry chase."
Chance nodded, looking uncertain. "I don't really know how to say thanks for your help—after all this time," he said huskily, and Caz shrugged.
"My pleasure, mate."
"And thanks for not saying 'I told you so.'"
Caz merely shook his head. "Don't mention it. Isn't every day I get to do a foul deed to a fine feller like Madigan." Chance mounted his horse. "And, mate... give my love to the sheila. But take some advice from an old friend... give her yours first. Old Fancy always was a pushover where you're concerned."
***
It took Caz the better part of a week to accomplish the task he'd set himself. It was easy enough to seed a mine, bringing in rock from other digs, even blasting ore into the rock face with a shotgun; all fine, if you intended to fool a tenderfoot. But if you intended not to fool an expert—that was a more complex scam. If this was the only hole card Chance had, it could be a very cold game.
Chapter 108
Chance stood in John Henderson's office at closing time, too agitated to sit down; the teller at the window had refused to honor the bank draft he'd presented.
"What do you mean, you're calling in my paper?" he demanded. "There was never any time limit placed on those loans."
" 'At the bank's discretion' is what the notes say about timing," Henderson replied evenly; he'd been in banking long enough to know how to handle this kind of unpleasant situation.
"I'm very sorry, Chance, but the truth is you've mortgaged yourself far beyond the boundaries of common sense. No lending institution can carry a client who's a constant liability."
"Liability?" Chance thundered. "What in the hell are you talking about, John? You and your bank have made a bloody fortune off my investments."
"Which is precisely why we are a successful operation, Chance," Henderson countered. "We're in the business of making money, not of losing it. You can stand there and fume all day and it won't alter my decision one whit. Fact is I've instructed the tellers to freeze your accounts until a complete inventory of your assets can be made."
"Does Jason Madigan know about this?" Chance asked,
bridling his fury.
Henderson pursed his lips as if deciding whether or not to speak again.
"Mr. Madigan and I discussed this action not an hour ago," he said with quiet finality.
The rage Chance felt at Madigan at that moment was so intense, he could barely contain it; he felt he would implode with the wrath that strangled him as he stood on the street outside the bank and fought for equilibrium. The cards were on the table now, there was no more time for a bluff. He sent a terse note to his enemy to meet him after the last shift broke at the Fancy Penny and impotent fury made his hand unsteady as he wrote the words.
The sounds of machinery whirred in the background of the mine office and a dull yellow light from the desk lamp illumined the tidy space, and threw long shadows from the two hostile figures across the expanse of wooden floor. Chance had sent the watchman away for an hour; this was a conversation that demanded privacy.
He looked into Jason's steel-gray eyes across the room where he and Hart had spun such dreams in better days. The ghosts of lost visions resided there, and the aching sense of vanished possibilities filled his bones.
"Time for the final reckoning, Jason," he said in measured tones. "The man I thought was my friend owes me an explanation."
Madigan's expression was hard in the reflected light. "I don't think I understand precisely what you mean by that, Chance."
"Come off it, Jason. I've spent a lifetime reading men's faces over a deck of cards. I already know what you did... I've come to find out why.
"All these times you lent me money... all that sage advice on investments... all those mortgages. It was nothing more than an elaborate scheme to bankrupt me, wasn't it? By God, Jason, you're a patient man. It's taken you years to accomplish what you set out to do."
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