Colorado Captive

by Charlotte Hubbard

  He was right, and if the observant Mr. Hughes was aware of her emotional turmoil, he’d certainly pick up on the physical reason behind it if she weren’t careful. Emily focused on the graceful ivory house ahead of them. The Golden Rose glimmered in the morning light, its butter-yellow cornices and gold molding glowing with the rich warmth of the sun. Despite the tawdry trade it housed, the Rose was still the most beautiful building in Cripple Creek—a fitting memorial to her father.

  She gripped Silas’s arm when he started up the front stairs. “Let’s walk around back. It might be months before I see this place again.”

  “And you can probably reach Victoria’s suite without passing Clancy,” he said with a knowing grin.

  “Why give him the slightest chance to think I came to see him? That’s how his mind works, you know.”

  The mine manager was silent as they strolled across the narrow yard, past rose bushes that were mulched and pruned, and the large, lace-curtained bay windows of the ballroom. A stiff breeze made her shiver as they rounded the corner, a reminder that winter drifts would soon confine her to the ranch. Would she be alone, nurturing the life that grew within her…or would McClanahan be there to stoke the fire and coddle her, as he’d promised?

  When she and Silas stepped inside the Rose’s back door, all thoughts of romance—and even of saying goodbye to Victoria Chatterly—vanished. An overpowering odor of scorched cabbage made her gag and cover her nose. Emily tried to breathe through her mouth, but it was too late.

  “What the hell’s the cook—Emily!” Silas grabbed her shoulders, just as she doubled over and aimed her breakfast toward the edge of the back steps. “Victoria?” he called into the house. “Can anyone help us here?”

  Leaning on the door frame, panting to prevent another upheaval, Emily heard footsteps and voices coming down the hallway. Her head was reeling and she felt sweat on her upper lip, despite the frosty air coming in around her.

  “Poor dear, what’s wrong?”

  “Are you all right? Can you come inside now?”

  Emily recognized the voices of Victoria and the Indian Princess, and nodded weakly.

  “She was fine when we left this morning,” Silas murmured. “I thought she’d recovered from yesterday’s—”

  “Not everyone has your iron constitution, Mr. Hughes,” the Madame said. She gently guided Emily toward the nearest room, which was the bathing suite. “And who could tolerate this awful stench? I’m afraid the new cook isn’t working out.”

  Emily let the Princess steady her as she collapsed in the chair beside the ornate brass bed. “I…I’ll be fine now. Thank you,” she breathed.

  Silas and Miss Chatterly were watching her with concerned faces, as the Princess went to the sink to wet a washcloth. The door opened behind them, and Emily’s stomach jumped again—Clancy walked in, peering around to see who’d caused the commotion. His smile repulsed her as he looked her up and down. “Our new perfume doesn’t agree with you?” he asked in a cloying voice.

  She didn’t answer, for fear she’d be sick again.

  “Go to the kitchen, Clancy. Brew her some tea,” Victoria said briskly. “She doesn’t need everyone staring at her, poor thing.”

  “Would you like to rest here while I take care of our business?” Silas asked gently. “I didn’t realize—”

  Emily nodded, forcing a smile. “By the time you’re finished, I’ll be fine. I promise.”

  His gaze lingered on her for a moment. Then he turned and gestured for the others to precede him out of the room, leaving Emily to the Indian Princess’s care. The woman’s touch was surprisingly gentle as she pressed the soothing cloth to Emily’s forehead and cheeks. “Let’s slip your cloak off,” she murmured. “Maybe you’d like to lie down for a while.”

  Emily stood slowly, grateful for Miss Putnam’s help and understanding. When she was free of the heavy cloak she eased onto the bed, allowing the Princess to remove her shoes as though she were entirely helpless. “Thank you, Grace. That’s your real name, isn’t it?”

  The Princess’s stripes of war paint creased into a grin. “McClanahan told you that, did he?”

  “I—I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Nah. Guess I should be pleased he even mentioned me when he was with you.” Her turquoise pendant scraped against the beadwork on her bodice as she sat on the edge of the bed. “This little episode wasn’t really caused by nerves, or by that nasty smell in the hall, was it?”

  Emily’s cheeks tingled, but it was no use trying to lie to a lady in Grace’s profession. She shook her head, glancing toward the tub to ease her embarrassment.

  “Does McClanahan know?”

  She nodded, any happiness she might’ve felt suddenly overpowered by the urge to vomit again. “You’d better bring that basin…”

  Grace held the large bowl at the edge of the bed while she rolled Emily toward it with a practiced hand. After a few heaves produced nothing more than a feeble belch, she set the basin aside and fluffed the pillow beneath Emily’s head. “I don’t mind telling you I wish it were me having his child,” the Princess said quietly. “But that’s just foolishness, at my age. I gave up the right to that sort of life a long time ago.”

  Emily gazed at Grace’s ebony hair and mahogany skin, realizing they were props for a role the slender woman had cast herself in. She no longer felt jealous, or particularly victorious after hearing the Princess’s confession; if anything, she pitied Grace Putnam for having to put on such an elaborate performance to support herself. “He—McClanahan—thinks a lot of you,” she mumbled. “And I appreciate the way you looked after Zenia when Clancy was causing her so much trouble, too.”

  Grace raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying that as my employer, or as—”

  “I’m saying it as Zenia’s friend. And yours, I hope.”

  The Princess’s smile spread across her face, but it turned wary when they heard the door open. It was Clancy with the tea tray, and Grace rose to take it before he could enter the room. “Thanks. She’s feeling much better now,” she said pointedly.

  The red-haired bartender looked toward Emily as though he intended to confirm the diagnosis for himself, until the woman in buckskin began to close the door on him. “Go tell the cook to open the kitchen windows!” Grace ordered. “Do something about this smell, before the customers complain.”

  When Donahue’s mutterings had faded down the hall, she returned to the bedside with the tea. “I’m not telling you how to run things, Miss Burnham, but if I were you, that bartender would be doing his business someplace else. He’s skimming our pay again, for what he claims is protection from unruly guests. Huh!” Grace glanced sourly toward the door as she handed Emily the teacup. “The only unruly one around here is Donahue himself.”

  “That’s probably the first thing Miss Chatterly will do,” Emily replied before sipping the steamy brew. “As of today, the Rose belongs to her.”

  “You’re out of it completely? But your father—”

  “Built it as a favor to Victoria anyway.” Emily smiled, feeling the strength seep back into her rubbery muscles as the tea warmed her. “And it’s not much of a place for a new mother and her baby.”

  Grace’s smile held a wistfulness shared by a lot of sporting ladies Emily had met. “So you and McClanahan are going to build a love nest?”

  “I-I don’t know yet.”

  “You’d be crazy not to. He’s one of the few men I’ve ever met whose heart’s as good as his looks.” Her dark eyes narrowed slightly and she went over to pull a small flask from the dresser drawer. “Here—roll a few drops of this stuff around your mouth. To keep your little illness a secret when you leave.”

  Emily hesitated, then sipped and gasped as peppermint fire singed her tongue and gums. She looked at Grace questioningly as the woman splashed a liberal dose of the clear liquid into her teacup.

  “Schnapps,” the Princess replied with a chuckle. “It’s a great breath freshener, and the mint helps settle your
stomach. How’re you feeling?”

  As the warmth of the liquor radiated slowly through her insides, Emily waited, testing her reaction. A rosy relaxation made her smile after a moment. “You serve a fine cup of tea, Miss Putnam.”

  “Remember that, next time you and McClanahan are in Cripple. I’ll brew us up another pot.” Grace winked, and then picked Emily’s shoes up off the floor. “Don’t be a stranger, all right?”

  As she told Victoria about her plans to return to the ranch, and bid the ladies good-bye, Emily doubted she could stay away from the Golden Rose for too long. It was where she’d grown from a wide-eyed innocent into a woman wise to the pleasures that money could buy, without becoming a victim of the depressing lifestyle the parlor house’s opulent decor camouflaged. She spent the rest of the day with Idaho, planning their trip home and packing…and wanting to find Matt and invite him to come along. Yet she wished he’d stop by to see how she was feeling.

  When Emily settled into bed for the night, her thoughts turned toward the future. She envisioned herself in Mama’s ivory wedding gown, descending the stairs while Idaho and Silas and the hands—and a bright-eyed Matt McClanahan—watched her happily. Her hand rested on her abdomen, and she wondered how long it would be before everyone knew she and Matt had been tending to another sort of business even before their visit to the Flaming B. Smiling, Emily snuggled deeper into the pillows.

  Idaho walked by her room on his way to bed, his tread slow and uneven. Then she heard the house settling,

  along with an occasional gust of wind. When the parlor clock chimed eleven, Silas’s footsteps ascended the stairs as usual—except they stopped in front of her door.

  The knob clicked. Emily certainly wasn’t afraid of Silas, yet she pretended to be asleep. After they’d returned from the Rose he went to the Angel Claire, and then he ate dinner with more reticence than usual. Was he actually sorry to see her and Idaho go? Emily took slow, steady breaths, because her father’s partner was standing beside her bed now, silent except for the whisper of his breathing, and it was all she could do to lie still.

  The chair beside her bed creaked with his weight. Then he let out a long sigh. “Emily, I hope you don’t wake up,” he mumbled, “because I couldn’t face you again if you knew what this old heart of mine’s going through.”

  Emily closed her eyes tighter, hoping the room’s darkness hid any sign that she was awake.

  “You’re so lovely, sweetheart…I can already imagine your radiance as you swell with the child inside you,” Hughes continued reverently. “McClanahan was too much a gentleman to say anything, but the joy on his face said what words couldn’t. I’d give anything in this world to be twenty years younger…to be the one who’d undone your hair and put the flush in your cheeks that day you cavorted on the mountainside in the altogether.”

  Her heart constricted until she thought it would burst. This explained Silas’s recent attentions—the man she’d considered aloof and unfeeling for the past several weeks was baring his soul, and had she been expected to respond, Emily would’ve been at a total loss for words. She forced herself to lie still, and to take deep, even breaths.

  “And knowing how a certain wildness pulses through your veins,” Silas added softly, “I’d bet my next ore shipment that you’ll put McClanahan off until you’re ready to settle down, no matter how long that takes or how much scandal you might cause by doing it.”

  He chuckled quietly, shifting in the chair. “Back when your father used to come in late to meetings, he muttered about the feisty little minx he was married to. You inherited that passionate nature from your mother, I suppose, but McClanahan’s patient enough—and smart enough—to wait you out. And that’s as it should be. Lord knows I’d be proud to marry you and raise the child as my own…but it’d be a sin for an old goat like me to harness your spirit, Emily Rose. Hell, if I were any sort of a man, I’d be saying these things to your face. But I was a lonely old fool when you burst into my life, and I’ll stay that way after you leave. It’ll be harder, though, now that I realize what I’ve missed.”

  He rose hurriedly and had to fumble for the doorknob. And long sifter his footsteps had faded down the hall, Emily lay awake puzzling over the enigma of Silas Hughes.

  As Sundance loped up the path to Mount Pisgah the next morning, the wind whipped at Emily’s cloak. The palomino’s breath came out in white trails of vapor as he rounded the final curve. Heavy gray clouds warned of snow—snow that could start without a moment’s notice and not stop until a dozen or more inches lay on the ground, because of Cripple Creek’s elevation. She couldn’t stay up here long, or Idaho would never get the wagon through the narrow passes to Colorado Springs. But she had to have one last look.

  She dismounted, smiling in awe-filled delight. The Cascade Mountains lacked their usual palette of colors, yet the spectacular panorama held a stark, majestic beauty in the eerie light of the impending storm. Emily clutched her billowing cloak, letting her eyes follow the lines of dark pines swaying in the wind to the irregular rock formations of an eon gone by, to the town that seemed so insignificant and temporary by comparison. It was on this spot that she’d committed herself to avenging Papa’s death, and then had fulfilled what seemed to be her undeniable destiny by giving herself to Matt McClanahan. The memories nearly overwhelmed her, they were so strong. Nowhere else had she felt so alive…so much a woman.

  Others had seen the change in her, too: Silas, whose fleeting glances at breakfast had tugged at her heart; Idaho, who’d probably sensed her pregnancy the moment she and McClanahan had become one. And of course Matt, whose passion for life had made her complete, yet had driven her away from him with a virile strength that still scared her a little. But she loved him…always had, and always would. Emily smiled, and with a final glance at the blustery mountainsides, she remounted Sundance to find her mysterious, handsome lover and tell him she was accepting his marriage proposal.

  Only a few yards down the path, the palomino’s ears pricked up and he nickered expectantly. When they got past the next clump of trees, Emily jerked on the reins. Clancy Donahue blocked her path, sitting astride his horse with a cocky grin that chilled her to the core. She was utterly defenseless, a mile from town. And as she caught the maniacal gleam in his green eyes—the look Silas had associated with Nigel Grath’s lunatic luck—she realized with sickening certainty that Clancy had watched her come up here, and that he’d been waiting for just such an opportunity to trap her.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Emily cleared her throat, forcing herself to return the beastlike bartender’s gaze. “What’re you doing up here, Donahue?”

  His nasty laugh got caught in the wind and seemed to come at her from all sides. “Didn’t I tell you I’d be watchin’ out for you, Miss Burnham? Makin’ sure nobody takes advantage of you, or relieves you of the wealth your daddy said should be mine someday?”

  “I’m perfectly capable of protecting myself.”

  “Is that so?” He laughed again, flashing the gap where his gold tooth had been. “Then how do you explain the faintin’ spell in the board room, and the way you puked out the back door of the Rose yesterday?”

  Glaring, Emily patted Sundance’s neck to settle the horse’s impatient shifting. “I’ve been under a lot of—”

  “You’re pregnant, bitch! Carryin’ McClanahan’s child, when you knew damn well you were promised to me. I’ve half a mind to horsewhip you, little girl.”

  Her heart hammered as Clancy lifted the coiled snake of rawhide from his saddle horn. Recalling the whistle and snap of his weapon when he’d attacked Matt in Zenia’s room, she tugged slightly on the reins to get Sundance to back up. “You touch me with that thing and every man in town will tear your hide off, Donahue. You wouldn’t stand a chance if—”

  “You back that horse another step, and this lash will be chokin’ you. Pullin’ you to the ground.” The bearlike man dismounted with surprising agility and grabbed Sundance’s bridle. “Get off. Y
ou’re ridin’ with me.”

  Fighting panic, she looked down at him with all the belligerence she could muster. “You’re going to send my horse back to town without his rider? That’s not too smart, Donahue.”

  “Where you’re goin’, it won’t matter,” he replied with a smug laugh. “Now are you gettin’ down on your own, or do I throw you to the ground?”

  Emily knew better than to hope the burly outlaw was bluffing—and any escape she’d try would only make him angrier. He’d think nothing of maiming her so badly she couldn’t crawl away for help…probably kick her in the stomach…so she reluctantly swung down from Sundance. She gritted her teeth to keep from crying as the red-bearded Irishman smacked the horse’s haunch and swore at him to make him gallop down the hill.

  The Goliath beside her was armed with a whip, a pistol, and his own brute strength, while she had only her instincts. “Idaho’s waiting for me—he knows I’ve come up here,” she said pointedly. “He and Silas will fetch McClanahan. They’ll have Marshal Thompson and all his deputies out looking for us.”

  “By the time they realize you’re not comin’ back, you’ll be mine, little girl” he said with a nasty laugh.

  She inhaled deeply, hoping the frosty air would keep her from getting sick. “And you honestly think I’ll marry you? Why in God’s name would I—”

  “Because I said so. Because you will.” With a quickness that caught her off guard, Clancy grabbed the collar of her cloak. Its hood slipped down, and as her hair spilled out into the wind, he gazed at her with a lust he didn’t bother to hide. “You really believed that fairy tale Hughes told at the funeral? Believed that all those miners and bankers would fall for it, without questionin’ the way you came sneakin’ around here?”

  Emily held her tongue, her eyes riveted on the pale green ones several inches above hers. She decided to listen carefully, because whatever ploy Donahue devised would be dangerous to everyone involved if he was provoked into using it. “Silas is highly respected,” she began in the strongest voice she could muster. “The people of Cripple would certainly believe his word over—”