Holt's Gamble

by Barbara Ankrum

  "Pa..."

  "But that's all gonna change when we get to San Francisco, lass," he told her. "Things'll be better for us, ye'll see."

  She reached over, took his hand, and gave it a squeeze. He'd always been full of dreams—dreams and promises that he'd make everything better for them.

  Someday.

  For as long as she'd known him, he'd promised her those things. It was the only way he had of loving her, she realized now. They weren't lies. They were his truth. His reason for going on.

  She found, at last, she could forgive him that fatal flaw as her mother before her had. She felt him squeeze her hand back, and suddenly she knew—for just this moment in time—the differences separating them had narrowed to the space between their fingertips.

  "Good night, Papa."

  "G'night, Kiery."

  * * *

  It was mid-October before she and Asa drove their weary team of mules through the outskirts of the city of San Francisco. With nearly two thousand long miles behind Kierin, the city—rough and hastily erected as it was—looked like heaven. Left behind at places like Sutter's Fort, Sacramento City, and Marysville were most of the people and wagons they'd traveled with from Fort Hall—seekers of gold and quick fortune. Their own destination, Kierin mused, was more modest but, for her, a hundred times more exciting.

  Matthew was here!

  As the day of their arrival drew nearer, her anticipation had grown, helping to ease the constant and irreconcilable pain of missing Clay. He was in her thoughts even now as they edged into the city and she wished she were seeing it for the first time with him beside her.

  Wishing would get her absolutely nowhere, she reasoned pragmatically. Clay was, by all estimates, nearly back to Independence by now—back to the town and all the troubles it held for him. Kierin sent up another of her hundred daily prayers for his safety. A helpless sense of dread filled her whenever she thought of him, and she gave herself a mental shake, determined to make her homecoming with her brother a happy one.

  Indian summer had descended upon the land of the Golden Gate. A warm breeze blew across the clumps of wild mint, or yerba buena, that grew along the sides of the road, filling the air with its sweet tangy scent. Though the town of San Francisco no longer bore the name "Yerba Buena," it was easy to see why the Californians had originally called it that. The mint seemed to be everywhere.

  The wagon wheels crunched rhythmically along the rutted, heavily used dirt road. Beside her on the swaying wagon seat, her father peered straight ahead, the traces hanging loosely, distractedly, in his hands. His mouth was narrowed to a grim slash across his face.

  It was an expression with which she'd become disturbingly familiar in the last few days. As their approach to the city, had loomed closer, her father seemed to be growing more and more restless and withdrawn. She attributed it to the long trip, and the fact that he was obviously feeling unwell. He had lost weight in spite of her cooking and all his denials that it wasn't true. A fine sheen of perspiration now glistened on his forehead.

  She laid a hand on his arm. "Are you feeling all right, Papa?"

  Startled out of his thoughts, he jerked around to face her. "What?"

  "I asked if you were all right. You look—"

  "Aye, girl, I'm fine," he told her curtly, with a slap of the reins.

  "Well, I don't care what you say, you're going to see a doctor as soon as we get settled," she told him in a voice that would brook no arguments.

  He gave her none. Instead he sank back to the slump-shouldered stare he'd had earlier.

  Kierin slipped her jittery hands beneath her thighs and decided to try a new tack. "How far is it from here to your friend Kip Johanssen's?"

  Asa cleared his throat but took a long time to answer. "Not far."

  Kierin settled back to wait. She wouldn't allow her father's mood to dull her spirits. Her eager eyes took in the sights. Fire-purged hillsides—treeless now—but studded with newly erected houses and businesses dotted the landscape. Landaus, surreys, and dog carts crowded the wide dirt-paved streets of the city.

  A thrill chased through her at the sight of the Long Wharf, stretching out some two thousand feet into the San Francisco Bay. It was crowded with steamers, packets, and three-masted sailing ships unloading passengers fresh from Panama.

  Asa turned the wagon down Montgomery Street, past the formidable stone masonry of the Bank of California and the Wells Fargo Express Building. They followed Kearny Street, with its string of false-fronted buildings to the bustling hub of Portsmouth Square. Long shadows carved by the late afternoon sun sheltered the crowds milling through an open-air market. The pungent smell of fish mingled with the scent of fresh-cut flowers, and the raucous sound of caged, squawking chickens. Young boys hawked the latest issue of the newspapers—Alta California and The California Star—from every street corner.

  It was so wonderful, Kierin could hardly take it all in. Her head was still spinning with excitement as Asa pulled the wagon to a stop in front of a well-kept three-story townhouse at the edge of the square.

  Asa reached behind him and pulled a nearly empty bottle of whiskey from beneath a sack and took a long pull on it—for courage, he told himself—before tying the traces around the handle of his brake.

  "Is this it?" Kierin asked.

  "Aye, this is the place," he answered, considering the possibilities of turning his back on this venture all together. A sharp pain pounded between his temples at the prospect of telling her the truth. Why hadn't he worked up the nerve to tell her about Matthew earlier? He told himself it was because he couldn't bear to spoil the new kinship they'd come to share since they'd come together. Because the truth would shatter that bond forever. Because, a voice reminded him, you're a weak, sniveling old wreck, of a man, Asa McKendry, and you'll never amount to more than that.

  Tell her now, he coached himself, before it's too late. A weariness settled upon his bones. It was too late already, he knew. "Kiery... there's somethin'—"

  "What are we waiting for?" she asked, leaping from the wagon seat.

  "Wait," he warned, following her down off the wagon. He had to tie the mules to the hitching post and she was already bounding up the steps. "Kiery—"

  Kierin raised her fist to knock on the door but the door swung open before she could.

  A young woman in a stunningly low-cut solferino pink silk gown pulled back a step in surprise. She cocked her head sideways, causing an ermine-colored curl to bounce appealingly against her rouged cheek. She gave Kierin a once-over with a slow sweep of her luminous brown eyes.

  Kierin was suddenly aware of how scruffy she must look in her worn blue calico and her hair pulled back stylessly in its leather thong.

  "Deliveries are around back, at the kitchen door," the woman announced, about to dismiss her.

  Kierin's face reddened. "No, I—I'm not here to deliver anything."

  The woman perused her again. "Well then? What can I do for you?" she asked with a twirl of her matching silk parasol.

  "Ah... we're here to see Kip Johanssen. Is he in?"

  The woman gave her a blank look. "Kip... who?"

  "Jo-hanssen." Kierin repeated more slowly in case the girl was dull-witted.

  The girl let out a trill of laughter. "You must be mistaken, there's no one by..." The girl's gaze lit on something behind Kierin's shoulder and her words trailed off.

  Kierin turned to see her father gesturing wildly to the strange woman with his hands. Kierin's confused look stopped him abruptly.

  Frowning, she turned back to the woman in pink, who was revising her denial even before getting the whole thing out.

  "Oh, you mean that Kip Johanssen." She laughed again. "Of course, come in, come in."

  The skin on the back of Kierin's neck crawled in warning. "Actually, it's Matthew McKendry we've come for. Is he here?"

  The woman pasted a smile on her tinted lips and daintily took Kierin's elbow. "Of course. Why don't you both come in and sit down? I'll g
et them for you."

  Kierin shrugged the girl's hand from her arm and tossed a narrow-eyed glance at Asa, who by now was standing on a step beside her. "What's going on?" she demanded.

  Asa was sweating profusely and dabbed at his forehead with a cotton hanky. "I—"

  "Who is this woman and where is Matthew?"

  "Darlin', there's something I have to tell..."

  "Well, what have we here?" came a man's voice from behind the girl.

  Kierin's breath froze in her throat at the sound and she turned to see a man looming in the shadow of the doorway. She backed against the wrought-iron rail guarding the steps. It couldn't be him, she thought desperately. It wasn't possible.

  As the man moved out of the shadow, the sunlight glinted off the shiny black eye patch he sported over his left eye and Kierin's heart sank to her toes. She recognized the ruined cheek, the sandy blond hair, the cold set to his jaw.

  There was a thin-lipped smile on his mouth as John Talbot's gaze fell on Kierin. "So I see you found her, Asa. My compliments on a job well done."

  "You—how—?" Kierin gasped in a choked voice.

  "Hello, Kierin. Surprised to see me? I'm afraid the wagon train is not the most economical means of transport to the West, my dear. The route through Panama cut my traveling time by nearly half."

  She turned her angry glare on her father. "What have you done?"

  "He's done what I told him to do," Talbot answered for him. "He's brought you back to me. Why don't we all go inside, instead of causing a scene out here on the stoop?"

  Asa's eyes pleaded with her. "I did it for your own good, Kiery."

  Kierin let out a disbelieving huff of breath. "My own—what are you talking about?" This can't be happening. She felt Talbot's fingers close around her arm, and instantly, she tried to lunge away from him.

  "Come along, Kierin," he said, stopping her easily. "I've waited too long for this moment to let it slip away now."

  "Let go of me, you bastard!" she screeched.

  "Here now," Asa said, "don't be doin' that to 'er—" Talbot and the woman in pink silk succeeded in dragging her into the opulently appointed house, with Asa close behind. "Hey, wait just a minute now—"

  "Have a drink, McKendry," Talbot invited, pointing at the table filled with decanters of liquor. "Cool your heels. You'll get your money." He shoved Kierin down onto a green velvet settee.

  Kierin's stunned look shot to her father. "Money? He paid you to bring me here?"

  "It's not what yer thinkin'." Asa's hands ground into fists at his sides. "He said he'd pay my expenses to go and find you. He told me... he said... he was in love with you and you with him—that he wanted to marry you."

  "W-what?" Kierin's anger-flushed cheeks drained of color. Her head spun crazily, like an out-of-kilter top.

  "He said ye'd been taken by a no-account drifter against yer will." Asa skewered Talbot with a hard look. "He told me you and he had some little spat before ye left Independence, but... he was sure ye'd be able to work it out once I brought ye back to him."

  "And you believed him?" Kierin asked incredulously. Her gaze shifted back and forth between Talbot and her father.

  Asa dragged a hand across his mouth, ignoring the others in the room. "Aye, lass, I did. That's why I didn't tell you about it all this time. I didn't want yer stubborn pride to get in the way of yer future."

  "My future? With him?" She let out a harsh bitter laugh. "Did he neglect to mention that he tried to kill me the last time he saw me and nearly succeeded in killing Clay?"

  Asa shot a look at Talbot. "What?"

  "So, Holt's still alive, is he?" Talbot's lip curled into a snarl and he casually poured himself two fingers of scotch from the crystal decanter. He tipped the amber liquid down his throat with a grimace. "I might have known I wouldn't get that lucky. No matter. The law will catch up with him soon enough."

  "You lied to me, Talbot," Asa said, taking a step toward him.

  Talbot pointed at him accusingly with the empty shot glass, stopping the other man short. "You've been lying to yourself for years, McKendry. That's why you're such an easy mark. You heard what you wanted to hear... all you wanted to hear."

  Asa staggered back as if struck. "You sonofabitch—"

  "It's a bit late for all this fatherly protectiveness now, isn't it, McKendry? I'll pay you what I promised. That should keep you in whiskey for the next year."

  Asa grabbed Kierin's arm. "C'mon. We're getting out o' here."

  Just as fast, Talbot stopped him. "No, you're not."

  "The hell you say..." Asa brushed the other man's hand off his arm.

  "Don't push me, McKendry," Talbot warned. Two other men—who seemed to fill the room—entered from the other doorway, both with guns drawn. "As you can see," he said, glancing at the brawny men behind him, "I'm not without a means of persuasion."

  "You d'na scare me with yer strong-arm tactics. A plain coward is what ye are, hidin' behind the likes of them. You want a fight?" he asked, holding his fists up near his face. "Let's see what ye got."

  Talbot shook his head with a snort of disgust, then reached into the vest pocket of his tailored coat and withdrew a small leather drawstring pouch. He tossed it carelessly toward Asa. It landed with a thud at his feet. "Pick it up, old man," Talbot ordered. "Cut your losses and get out while you've still got two good legs under you."

  The threat sent a cold chill up Kierin's spine, but Asa ignored the money and pulled her close to him. "I'm not leavin' without her."

  Talbot laughed again. "You think she'll still want to go with you when you tell her how you lied about her brother?"

  With a sinking feeling of dread, Kierin looked up at her father. The color had siphoned from his ruddy face. "W-what does he mean?" she insisted. "Where's Matthew?"

  Asa squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his hold on her arm.

  "Tell her, McKendry..." Talbot snarled. "Tell her how you lied to her about him being here. About how her brother's young scalp is dangling off the tip of some Crow warriors lance."

  "No-o-o!" The half-cry, half-scream of denial tore from her throat and she stumbled backward, away from her father. "It's not true. Tell him it's not true."

  "He can't. Can you, McKendry?" Talbot baited.

  Asa's guilt-ridden eyes slowly rose to meet Kierin's.

  His face was the color of ashes, and his lip beaded with perspiration. "I—I'm sorry, Kiery."

  Bile rose in her throat and her stomach lurched threateningly. She groped blindly for the seat of the settee behind her and sat down hard. Her insides ground together like bits of shattered glass. It hurt too much to cry, too much to even breathe. How could she have been such a fool? So utterly gullible?

  Asa took a step toward her and anger surged inside her. "Don't touch me!" she snapped, knocking away from his outstretched hand. "Just leave me alone."

  "Kiery..."

  Tears glistened on her cheeks and slid in tiny rivulets past her jaw. "Don't you ever call me that again. I hate you. Do you hear me? I hate you!"

  Asa swallowed hard and backed up a step. His mouth opened and closed like a land-locked fish.

  "Get out, McKendry," Talbot said with a pleased smile tipping the corners of his mouth. "Your daughter doesn't need you anymore."

  Asa's whole body vibrated with the shock waves of what had just happened. He'd been duped, but it would do him no good to try to explain his way out of this with Kiery. His own stupidity had gotten him here. He didn't need to hear the words she'd just flung at him to know how she felt about him. She hated him and, he reasoned, she had every right to.

  You're a miserable excuse for a man, Asa McKendry, he berated himself, and a poorer excuse for a father. If he thought he had a chance of saving her now, he'd try to overpower one of those louts with the Colt dragoons in their hands. But he was unarmed.

  He needed a gun and he needed it fast.

  Asa massaged his left arm, which had gone almost completely numb. Maybe it was a fool's errand,
but he had one chance left to help his only daughter and he decided to take it.

  Straightening, he shot Kierin a scornful look. "Ach—the hell with it, then. Stay here with him if that's what ye want. Ye've always been a thorn in my side, girl, and the truth is, I'll be glad to be rid of ye."

  Kierin's head came up with a snap and she sent him a scorching look that singed his resolve, but didn't stop him.

  He bent down to retrieve the pouch of gold that lay on the floor. "I might as well have somethin' for my trouble," he said, offhandedly. "You're welcome to her, Talbot. She's a hard one, that girl."

  Perched on the edge of the velvet settee, Kierin watched him walk toward the door and felt all emotion drain from her. In its place came a strange sense of calm and resolve. It didn't really surprise her that her father was leaving her here without a fight. It was his way. The truth was, he'd quit on her and Matthew long ago. Why should now be any different?

  Keep your wits about you, Kierin, she warned herself. You'll need every one of them to get out of this alive. Clay's face swam in her memory, filling her up, giving her a reason to fight. Oh, Clay, she thought, with a longing that tore at her heart, will I ever see you again?

  Asa turned one last time before going out the door. Kierin's chin hitched up a notch and she glared at him, her eyes the color of a storm-tossed sea.

  Asa swallowed hard and his hands gripped the gold-filled pouch until his knuckles turned white. "I was wrong about yer bein' like yer ma, Kierin," he told her with a quivering lip. "Yer nothin' like her. Ye never will be."

  Something snapped in Kierin. She grabbed the first thing she could lay her hands on: an etched-crystal egg poised on a small teakwood stand on the low table in front of her. Her fist closed around it and she flung it with all the force she could muster toward her father.

  Asa saw it coming and ducked, but not before the glass shattered against the doorjamb beside him and sent a piece splintering into his cheek. Stunned, he reached up and touched the tiny trickle of blood that traveled down his cheek.

  "You go to hell!" she shouted at him as one of Talbot's men hurried to her side and grabbed her arms.

  "Aye. No doubt," he replied, and without another word, he walked out the door. The heavy oak portal rattled in its frame with all the finality of a jail cell door.