The dark-haired woman nodded. “The letter will be in the outgoing pouch when Carter and Sloane return. Next stop is Curdy’s Crossing.”
On her walk back, Dulcina allowed a moment’s dream of leaving behind the saloon. True, she’d be abandoning the future Stuart established for them. But had that future been as secure as he led her to believe? Why had he needed money and not told her what he was doing?
Stuart couldn’t have realized his hasty decision to run to the miners’ rescue would leave her vulnerable to dealing with men of low breeding. But he had done just that. Ralph was needed behind the bar to serve the few patrons who walked through the door. So, without Stuart running interference, she had to fend off advances from disreputable men like Logan Cash and Irish O’Malley. Some of their flirtations were easy to laugh off. But when actions replaced words, she’d been terrified but had to use teasing feminine wiles to retain the groping men as customers. She shuddered. Or those three scraggly-looking men who said they were just passing through but kept returning. The one who laughed at inappropriate times seemed not right in the head.
Maybe the letter would prove to be her salvation. Headed up Front Street toward the saloon, she debated if she could afford the indulgence of stopping at the bakery and buying a treat.
“Well, well, aren’t you looking pretty, Missus Crass?”
The oily voice of Mortimer Crane attacked her ears, and she shuddered. Glancing around the area, she spotted him at the bottom of the steps ahead, wearing a garish green plaid suit.
She steeled herself against his blatant appraisal of her figure. “Good afternoon, Mister Crane.” She increased her speed. If she could, she’d alter her direction, but doing so would only lengthen the time she’d be subjected to his presence. “I’m just on my way back to the Last Chance.”
“Allow me to escort you on this fine spring afternoon.” He held up a pudgy hand to provide assistance.
Dulcina acted like she didn’t see it and used her free hand to manage the front of her skirts. Where was a familiar townsperson walking by when she needed a distraction?
“How is your business faring in these troubling financial times?” He fell in step at the edge of the boardwalk, swinging his cane. After a moment of silence passed, he angled his head to peer under her parasol, clamping a hand on his bowler to keep it from tipping off.
If she faked a stumble, she could push him into the street. But she repressed the urge. “Of course, fewer customers are present, but I’m managing. Thank you.”
“Yes, I had noticed the reduced clientele bellying up to your bar, as we in the business say.”
How did he insert innuendo where none belonged? “I wonder, Mister Crane, how you manage to get your own work done based on the amount of time I see you making calls on all the widows.”
He puffed out his chest. “As the person who owns this town, I feel a responsibility to check in with the poor, lonely widows who are struggling. I find many in need of a gentle word…or a soft touch, if you know what I mean.”
Inhaling a quick breath, she jerked her head to the side and stared. What a braggart!
He waggled his eyebrows and smirked.
Her posture went rigid. “This topic is distasteful, and I wish you to refrain from continuing.” Every word he spoke grated on her nerves. On her walks, she’d overheard rumors about how the snake of a man used such lothario ways that Hester warned about. Her saloon was in sight, and she hurried her steps. At the door, she turned and forced a smile. “Thank you for escorting me to my establishment.”
He stepped close, so close his foot moved between hers and caused her petticoat to shift backward. “Oh, but I have business to discuss.”
Acrid cigar smoke oozed from his clothing. Heat rose in her cheeks at the intimate position he’d created. She was stuck between moving away from the door that led to her personal sanctuary to put space between them or easing forward far enough so she could reach the knob and open the door. And the smarmy man knew exactly the dilemma he caused. Looking almost level, she refused to lower her stare. She tightened her grip on the parasol handle, lifting it a couple inches. The construction might be lightweight enough to carry with ease, but she bet she could deliver a good, solid wallop.
His eyebrow rose, and his gaze swept downward from her face to her chest.
Dulcina refused to back down.
“Excuse me, but aren’t you Missus Crass?”
The young man’s voice broke the tension.
Mortimer Crane moved back a stride and scowled, first at her then at the youth.
With a witness present, Dulcina eased her stance and turned. “Yes, I am she.”
“Telegram come for you, ma’am.” From where he stood at the edge of the boardwalk, he extended a folded paper.
Had Gabriel sent it? Her pulse sped. She loosened the strings of her reticule and reached inside for coins. After placing two pennies in the young man’s empty hand, she flipped and flattened hers to receive the message. “Thank you. Your name’s Tommy Bridges, am I correct?”
The youth doffed his shapeless hat and grinned. “Right you are, and thanks for the tip.”
Afraid Crane might snatch it away, Dulcina stuffed the paper into her reticule and spun to push against the bat-wing doors before stepping inside. Maybe a customer or two would provide a buffer against this persistent man.
Mister Crane jammed his cane into the opening to keep the door from hitting him in the chest then followed her inside.
“Mister Driscoll, I’ve returned.” Dulcina walked to the bar and set down her parasol and the newspaper. Reaching under her chin, she untied the ribbons of her black felt bonnet and set it on the bar.
The bartender appeared from the direction of the kitchen. “Ma’am. Oh, Mister Crane. May I pour you a drink?”
Mortimer waved twice in his direction. “Nothing at this time of day. Your employer and I have a business matter to discuss.”
She met Ralph’s gaze and gave him a quick nod. Although the gesture was meant to send him out of the room, she knew he’d linger within earshot. “What is this business you mentioned earlier?” After a brief glance in his direction, she walked around the bar so she could put a sizable barrier between them. Under the counter, she always kept a lidded carafe of water, and she poured herself a glass.
“Performing at my Gentlemen Only Saloon, of course.” He braced his forearms on the polished bar. “My special customers would give you more than a couple pennies as a tip if you shared your wonderful talents.”
The words could be interpreted as referring to her singing ability. But the hairs rising on the back of her neck informed her he had other, more salacious talents in mind. She didn’t even stop to consider who these “special customers” might be. “Like I’ve told you, I have a business here to run.”
Scoffing, he threw an arm into an arc to encompass the entire room. “What business? I see no one occupying a table or hailing the bartender for a drink.”
True, but she had to figure a way to reverse those circumstances. She jutted her chin. “The hour is early.”
“You’re only fooling yourself.” As he sauntered to the end of the bar, he shook his head.
Dulcina raised a hand. “I’ve asked you not to come back into this employee-only space.”
“Sorry, but I have to retrieve my property.”
“What?” Her breath caught in her throat, and she pressed her back against the bar. Did the man plan to attack her in her own place of business?
He reached into a jacket pocket and withdrew a folded document. “I have a loan for two hundred dollars signed by your husband.”
“I don’t believe you.” She grabbed for the paper, but he held it beyond her reach. The signature at the bottom of the page was only a scrawl. “I know nothing about that loan, and I didn’t sign it.”
“As the debtor’s widow, you are responsible for his outstanding accounts.”
Dread landed in her belly. Two hundred dollars might as well be two t
housand. She didn’t have that much money. “I don’t believe that fact is true.” Hadn’t someone mentioned at the widows’ meeting about Utah Territory not having community property laws in place? Oh, why hadn’t she paid closer attention?
“This document says otherwise. I expect you to pay, one way or the other.” His gaze narrowed as he leaned closer.
Would he use this loan to force her to sing in his new establishment? But everyone knew agreeing to be one of his employees came with the potential for being conscripted into a bedroom. If that happened, what recourse would she have?
“You’re not the only possession of Stuart’s I’ve long admired.” He moved to the liquor case and emptied it, placing the bottles on the back counter. “I know just the place to install this decorative case in my saloon.” With a flourish, he snapped the promissory note onto the bar and produced a lead pencil from a jacket pocket. “I’ll make a note that fifty dollars has been repaid.” His hand moved as he talked. “Please sign here, verifying your agreement.”
Agreement? More like coercion. Anger tensed her muscles. Stuart told her he paid twice that amount to have the case built. But if signing meant she could get rid of this nasty man, she’d do it. “I’ll sign this document because you’re giving me no choice. But I do believe I’ll speak with Judge Vaile about the matter.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him stiffen at mention of the man who also served as an attorney. The judge had advised the widows, especially Mayor Hester Fugit and newlywed Priscilla Heartsel Gamble, about a property line dispute on the hot springs land—to the benefit of the widows.
After securing the document, Mister Crane spread his arms and lifted the bulky case. Then he set it down again. “Call your man out here to help me.”
“I will not assist you in stealing my property.” She stomped around the end of the counter and gathered her things. “Mister Driscoll.”
After the count of two, Ralph strode in from the hallway. “Yes, Miss Dulcina?”
“Make sure Mister Crane doesn’t remove anything from the saloon except that wooden case when he leaves.” Without a salutation of farewell, she held her head high and climbed the stairs to her bedroom. Once there, she tossed the paper and parasol on the bed then dug into her reticule for the telegram. Her heart was in her throat as she read:
Offer accepted STOP Arriving by June 25 STOP Mode of travel unknown STOP Representing your father at auction STOP GM
I’ll have protection again. Blinking back tears of relief, she flopped back on the mattress, with only a niggle of guilt about the letter of application she just mailed.
Chapter Six
A s the stagecoach rolled south, Gabriel’s first sighting of Wildcat Ridge did not show the town in its best light. If a few buildings nestled in a valley next to a collapsed mine even had a good side. Gabriel braced a hand on the frame of the stagecoach window and leaned forward. Most of the businesses must be in the other direction, because his view was of railroad tracks, open ground, and red-rock mountains.
The last stretch of road from Evanston had been the hardest to endure. The mule team struggled over the final forty miles of winding mountain road when he wished for swift horses and a flat prairie. Since sending the telegram informing Dulcina of his arrival, he’d been in constant discussions with his parents on the advisability of his decision. They, of course, advocated that he collect Dulcina and escort her home to Questa so the marriage could occur amongst the two families. He hadn’t allowed himself to be swayed about what was best for the family—his decision was for him alone. And Dulcina.
Once he made the choice to leave behind life on the rancho, all the other necessary choices fell into place. His trip might have been easier if he’d arrived on the train two days earlier. But he’d needed to locate an attorney who knew territorial law to develop contracts for both his new distillery and taking over Dulcina’s business affairs.
The Pinkerton agent he hired reported the town of Wildcat Ridge was controlled by a man named Mortimer Crane. Just about every business owner either owed him money or operated a business on his property. The agent also reported Crane was developing a new mine in Cranesville less than twenty miles away and split his time between the two locations.
All Gabriel could hope for was that the man tended his other business interests today to allow him to accomplish three essential tasks.
The stage slowed then stopped at an intersection in front of the Wells Fargo office. He climbed out onto a wooden platform and arched his back. Thankfully, only three other passengers had been on the trip, so he’d had a modicum of space for his long legs. A glance down the street displayed the less glamorous part of town—shanties and bordellos. Shouldn’t Dulcina be here waiting?
Carter, the driver, handed down the luggage to the guard, Sloane, who set the items on the platform. They struggled with the large brown portmanteau.
Gabriel stepped forward and reached a hand to assist. “That one’s mine.”
“Right fine piece, sir.” The driver smoothed a hand over the end.
“My tío’s handiwork. Uh, I have an uncle who’s a leather crafter.” He accepted the matching carpetbag. “Thanks, Carter. And to both of you for the safe journey.”
Both men grinned.
From the building behind, a latch clicked, and a shoe scraped on the platform.
Around him, the air shifted. Gabriel turned, and his body stilled. She was here…Dulcina Miranda. In an instant that might have lasted an hour, he detailed her features—how her lips pouted like she was about to speak, how she tilted her head just a little to the right as if inviting him closer, how she stood with shoulders squared and met his gaze straight on. But her dark eyes no longer held the familiar sparkle he remembered.
Then her eyebrows pinched tight. “Gabriel Magnus?”
He walked closer, still taking in the fact he breathed the same air as her after all this time. “Am I so changed you don’t recognize your old friend?”
A black-gloved hand waved in his direction. “The Gabriel I remember was still in his youth and did not fill out a jacket with such broad shoulders.”
Unable to wait any longer, he moved to grasp both her hands and leaned down to brush a kiss on her cheek. “I’m glad to see you, Dulcina.” A spicy scent he couldn’t identify clung to her hair.
A deep sigh escaped from her lips. “And I you, Gabriel.” She squeezed his hands then let go. “I am so grateful you accepted the arrangement.”
For another moment, he looked at the woman who would soon, after eight years of pining, be his. He frowned at her attire, a black gown with no embellishment, and matching gloves. “You will need to change clothes before the ceremony.”
“Ceremony?” Her eyes shot wide. “You intend us to be married today?”
“I do, and I’ll not marry a woman wearing mourning black.” The drab color did nothing to highlight her natural beauty. “You look fit to join the circle of viudas in the Questa marketplace.”
Lips pinched, she glanced around the immediate area. “But, Gabriel, I have been in mourning for Stuart since the mine disaster.”
He bristled at the mention of that man’s name but kept his expression calm. “A status that ends now. Stuart is gone, never to return in this lifetime.” When he spotted her lower lip quiver, he braced himself. The way their life would be structured moving forward had to be laid out. “Today will be the first day of our marriage, yours and mine, and he will not come between us. I will proclaim my vows next to a woman who looks to the future, not one who still clutches the past.” He stepped back to gather his luggage then carried it to where she stood. “Please show me to the saloon, where I assume you also live.”
“Oh.” She dropped her gaze and pulled at the strings on her reticule. “I thought you’d book a room in the hotel while we get reacquainted.”
If she thought she was the one making decisions, she’d been on her own too long. Maybe her late husband allowed that behavior. She might as well learn that he would not. He narro
wed his eyes. “We will get reacquainted while living under the same roof.” The words “and in the same bed” remained unspoken. He didn’t think she was ready to hear his opinion of how the arrangement would play out.
“But Wildcat Ridge has no minister. Poor Reverend Bainum was lost in—”
“I know.” His voice snapped sharper than he intended. He held up a hand. “The mine collapse. The town can only be saved if you stop looking at what you lost and focus on what can be gained.” Realizing other people paid too close attention to their conversation, he clasped her hand and guided her to a nearby bench. “I am sorry, Dulcina. I do understand you have been through a loss. But that tragedy is not my experience. I see new opportunities, and I aim to grab them.” He smiled. “The best one is you.”
Her eyes shot wide. “I’d planned for us to take a day trip to Curdy’s Crossing on Saturday after the horse-related business is concluded. The church there is run by Minister Stone, and other widows have had him perform their wedding ceremonies. I thought we could marry after services on Sunday.” She ducked her head. “The marriage that is supposed to be only a formality.”
Silently, he cheered the glimpse of feistiness he remembered so well. Setting a finger under her chin, he eased up her head until she met his gaze. Sitting this close, he fought the urge to enfold her into his arms and kiss her speechless. “You asked me to come, and I have. You wanted a husband, and I agreed. You stated I would be the saloon’s manager, which I will be. Now, let me handle everything else.” He stood then moved to collect his luggage, swinging the portmanteau to his shoulder. “Can you carry the carpetbag?”
With a huff, she stomped over and snatched the leather bag off the platform. “Of course, I can carry this.”
“Wonderful. Lead the way home.” The first few swishes of her bustled skirts clued him that he’d lit a spark. Good. The other solution was a swift kick in the rear, and he’d keep that option in reserve. “Tell me about your town as we walk.” He checked the street signs to orient himself—intersection of Front and Chestnut. Across the diagonal stood the Crane Bank, and if all went well, they’d be visiting the establishment within the hour. As they stepped onto the hard-packed street, he cupped his free hand under Dulcina’s elbow.
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