A loud, hacking cough sounded around a corner. Not an unusual sound in these dusty mines. Bryan followed the noise and spotted the first of the three men he'd come to see in the south shaft. O'Leary carried three sledge hammers over each shoulder, his back bowed under the load.
After jogging to catch up, Bryan settled into step beside the man. "How are you, Thomas?" He'd take part of the load if he could, but knew from experience the man wouldn't let him. Any sign of shirking could be cause for a worker's pay to be docked in mines. And with four kids at home and his wife expecting their fifth, Thomas O'Leary needed every penny he could scrounge.
Thomas bobbed a nod. "All right."
"I just received a shipment of something I'm pretty excited about." Bryan flipped open one side of his pack, and pulled out one of the contraptions. "It's a breathing mask. You wear it while you're working down here, and it filters the air you breathe, so you're not taking in all this dust that makes you sick."
O'Leary glanced sideways at the piece but didn't slow his trudging. Neither did he speak.
Bryan extended the apparatus toward him. "Would you like to try it? I think it'll help us get rid of that cough."
The man eyed the mask again, mouth pinched and brows raised. "Reckon' I can. Might as well."
A rush of relief surged through Bryan. "Great."
When they reached O'Leary's destination, Bryan helped fit the mask to his patient's face, then stepped back. "I'll come back to check on you in a day or two, see how it's going."
Thomas only nodded. It might take him a little while to get used to talking through the cover. But if the mask helped clear up the congestion in the man's lungs, it would likely save his life. And with so many miners dying of lung sickness, that would be a miracle, indeed.
~ ~ ~
Every visit to the upper level of these saloons made Bryan's chest ache and left him angry enough to pommel someone. He let himself out of one of the private rooms in The Irish Castle and trudged down the stairs.
The weary-faced woman he left had used her own methods to end a pregnancy, and nearly bled to death in the process. Finally he'd stopped the bleeding, and if she stuck to the diet he prescribed, her blood supply should rebuild itself. She'd be hard-pressed to work in the meantime, though. If only he could change her situation completely. And that of every one of these women.
At the base of the stairs, Bryan slipped through the wide door leading into the main saloon. The room was surprisingly empty, even for this time of morning.
And quiet. The loud clearing of a man's throat was the only sound in the stillness.
Bryan stopped and scanned the area, his eyes finding the bar.
Two men stood there. Chap, the giant of a bartender, had both hands raised in the air over his head. Another man, a stranger, stood on the front side of the counter. The rifle in his hand pointed at Chap, but his eyes could have glared a hole in Bryan.
"Drop your bag and raise your hands. You make any quick moves, and the barkeep's dead."
Chapter Eight
Bryan obeyed the armed man’s command, ignoring the sweat dripping down his back.
"Now get over next to him where I can see ya." The gunman bobbed his head toward Chap.
Bryan eased the twenty or so feet to the bar.
"That's far enough." The man focused again on Chap. "Now finish fillin' that sack."
Chap obliged, lowering his large frame to fill a leather bag with smaller satchels from a box under the counter. His movements were methodical, slow and measured.
Bryan took the opportunity to study their captor. The man was mid-sized and wore a neck scarf to cover the lower half of his face. A balding hairline revealed reddened skin on his forehead, like he'd spent too much time in the sun. He wore the shirt and vest of a gentleman, although the weave was a bit threadbare. The top button of his collared shirt opened to reveal dark chest hair. Nothing about the man looked familiar.
After a minute or so, with Chap working in steady motions, the robber shifted from one foot to the other, and his grip on the Winchester rifle tightened. "Move quicker," the man barked.
Over the course of another minute, beads of sweat ran down the gunman's forehead. His gaze flicked back and forth from Chap to Bryan, and occasionally, he glanced at the closed front door of the bar. He must have locked it when he cleared out the mid-morning patrons.
At last, Chap had the final small satchel stuffed in the large sack and rose to his feet.
"Hand it here,” the man barked, reaching across the counter.
Chap obeyed. He was a large man, and his methodical movements came across as slow-witted at times. But Bryan knew from their conversation while he’d stitched the man after breaking up a barroom brawl, Chap had once studied under one of the finest lawyers in Boston. He'd hated the stress, though, and came west to see what adventure he could find. Surely, here at the wrong end of this stranger's gun, he’d found adventure enough.
Bryan focused on the man behind the rifle. His movements were jerky now, probably excited to be so near pulling off his heist. Would the man just leave with the money? Lord, let it be.
"Both of you. Get down on yer bellies." The Winchester gestured at the open floor in front of Bryan.
Shooting a glance at Chap, Bryan eased down onto his stomach.
"I'll have this rifle trained on ya 'til I ride outta sight, so don't even think about followin'. Get it?"
"Yessuh'." Chap's voice came out almost as a grunt.
Bryan tried to crane his neck to watch the man leave the building without raising his head. They were almost safe, and the last thing he wanted to do was rile the robber.
The thief backed toward the door, the oversized sack cradled in one hand like a precious child. With the other, he gripped the rifle, still trained on the two of them. At the closed front door he paused, seeming to struggle with how to remove the brace without losing his grasp on either precious possessions. He finally used the butt of the rifle to lift the metal bar from its holding arms. The rod clattered to the floor, and Bryan forced his muscles not to jump as the noise rang through the quiet saloon.
Outside sounds rushed in as the door opened and the thief backed out. He’d started to close the door when he heard the crash of wood. A loud groan, and the man crumbled to the sidewalk outside.
Bryan pushed himself up to his knees to get a better look. His muscles tensed, ready to spring up or flatten himself, depending on what he saw. The robber was, indeed, lying on the wooden boardwalk. The door creaked as a face peered around the edge.
Lurching to his feet, Bryan lunged forward. That face. It couldn't be.
The door opened wider, and Miss Sullivan's wide eyes scanned the room, then landed on him.
"What are you doing?" Bryan stopped himself in front of the woman just before he reached her, barely stopping himself from grabbing her shoulders and shaking them. "That man had a rifle and was nervous enough to point and shoot at anything that startled him. You almost got yourself killed." He sucked in deep breaths, trying to slow his racing pulse.
She blinked, then glanced down at the heap of unconscious man beside her, lying in the midst of splintered wood and some kind of gray, lumpy sauce.
Dropping to one knee, Bryan laid two fingers on the man's neck. His pulse was strong. Moving his fingers under the robber's nose, a steady flow of air tickled Bryan's skin. Breathing just fine. Bryan shifted to the man's eyes, raising both lids at the same time. The left pupil shrank against the bright sunlight. The right did as well, but only half as much. A concussion for sure, but the man would likely be coming around soon.
Glancing up, relief flooded Bryan at the sight of Chap hovering over them. "He'll wake soon with a headache, but he should be fine in a few days. Now's a good time to get him to the jail."
"It'd be my pleasure. Let me put this bag in a safe spot, an' I'll take care o' that weasel." Chap hoisted the sack of money and disappeared into the dark interior.
Bryan picked up the Winchester the man h
ad dropped in his fall, then rose and turned his full attention to the woman who'd just shaved ten years off his life. "Don't ever approach a man who’s pointing a loaded gun. Got it?" The blood rushed through him again as he took in her pretty face. A face that could easily be lying dead on the ground right now if things had turned out differently.
Miss Sullivan raised those pretty brows. "You're welcome."
Air left his lungs in a whoosh. He dropped his gaze and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. I…" She was right. He raised his eyes to meet hers. "Thank you."
Her face softened a little, and she glanced down at the man still unconscious on the ground. "Did he hurt you?"
"No. Seemed like he was only after the money." He scanned the viscous brown gunk splattered across the wooden sidewalk. "What did you hit him with?"
She nibbled her lower lip. "A crate full of Aunt Pearl's dumplings. I was out making deliveries, and I saw he had a gun pointed at someone inside, and I just…reacted." She peered up at him. "I'm glad you weren't hurt."
Chap reappeared in the doorway and, in a smooth motion, reached down, grabbed the robber, and swung him onto his broad shoulder. The limp form moaned, but Chap ignored it. Bryan handed over the rifle, and Chap took it with a nod. He turned toward Miss Sullivan, touched the rifle barrel to his forehead in salute, and said, "Much obliged, ma'am."
She dipped a quick curtsey. "Glad you're okay, and glad I could help."
~ ~ ~
"So he didn’t get away with the money?"
Bryan kept his face stoic as he forked another beef chunk and dragged it through the gravy on his plate. "Didn't get away at all."
Miriam's eyes grew round as silver dollars. "How'd you stop him?"
The crowd around them at the café made it hard for his silence to have its full effect. "Miss Sullivan got the better of him and knocked him unconscious."
Alex's mouth twisted in a curious grin, but he stayed quiet. He didn't have to talk near as much now that he was married. Miriam's brow knit in confusion, then flew up as she leaned forward. "Mrs. Malmgren's granddaughter? What was she doing there? In a saloon and…a brothel?"
Hmm… He should probably clear up the reasons soon, but it was fun dragging out the suspense.
A motion at the corner of his eye caught his attention. There she was. An apron covering the same blue dress she'd worn earlier. Hair pulled back in a knot. Eyes…stunning.
Miss Sullivan strode right to their table, her left arm supporting a tray of steaming plates. He tried to catch her gaze, but she wouldn't look at him. As she placed a dish in front of each person, the table fell silent. Something struck his shin under the table, but he ignored it.
Miriam drummed her fingers on the table, then cleared her throat just as Miss Sullivan started to turn away. "Are you Mrs. Malmgren's granddaughter?"
She rotated back, her gaze darting to Bryan before it settled on Miriam. Now she looked at him? "Yes."
Miriam thrust out her hand. "I've been eager to make your acquaintance. Bryan's said so much about you, I feel like you're already a friend. I know your grandmother's thrilled to have you here." She sank back in her chair with a sappy smile at Alex. "She's a special favorite with us."
Bryan gripped his hands together under the table to keep from clamping one over the magpie's mouth. Bryan's said so much about you? When had he said so much?
But the damage was done. Miss Sullivan raised a brow at him, then turned back to face his mouthy sister-in-law. "It's a pleasure, Mrs. Donaghue. My grandmother speaks highly of you all."
"I've been meaning to pay a visit to check on you both, but things have been so busy at the clinic. Would it be okay if I do that?"
Miss Sullivan tipped her head the slightest bit as she studied Miriam, exposing her elegant neck as her hair brushed to the side. Bryan swallowed to bring moisture back to his mouth.
"I'd like that." She motioned around the dining room. "I help serve lunch and dinner, so morning or afternoon would be best."
A glimmer in Miriam's eye caught his attention away from the beauty standing beside him. "Perfect. That way you can tell me all the details about how you saved Bryan from the robber."
Bryan shot her a dark look, but Miriam ignored him.
A blush stole over the woman's pretty cheeks. "I was in the right place at the right time, I suppose."
Bryan clamped his jaw against a retort. This woman's good deeds were going to get her in trouble one day.
~ ~ ~
Claire stifled a yawn as she replaced the coffee pot on the stove the next morning. Images of the robber had plagued her dreams all night and stolen her energy this morning. Sometimes he held Bryan at gunpoint, while all she could do was stand there open-mouthed. Not even able to scream. In other images, she was the one with the cold, metal gun barrel pressed to her chest, while Bryan lay on the ground in a bloody mess.
She scrubbed a hand over her face. Only dreams.
Picking up both coffee mugs, she turned and shuffled toward the front door. Gram had risen earlier than normal this morning and already sat rocking on the front porch.
"The coffee smells good." Claire eased a cup into Gram's hands, careful to keep her hold until Gram took the weight of the mug.
"It does, Clara Lee."
When Claire had settled into her own rocker, Gram reached over, her hand patting the wooden arm until she found Claire's. Gram's mouth formed a soft smile. "Have I told you lately how glad I am you came?"
"I'm glad, too." And she was. Looking at her grandmother now, Claire's heart ached with love for the woman. For all the years they could have shared, if only the distance hadn't separated them.
"I have good friends here in Butte, but there's nothing quite as special as having family to share life with."
"I agree." Claire leaned against the chair and rocked, eyeing the orange rays rising over the distant mountain range. What were Mama and Papa doing at home this morning? Papa probably sat in his chair at the table, reading some medical publication while Mama scurried around the kitchen preparing breakfast.
"In fact, there's something I'd like to share now, and I'm glad you can be the first to know."
Claire turned to watch Gram's face. Why the hesitation in her voice? "What is it?"
A smile lit her features, the wrinkles forming an expression that made her look ten years younger. "Moses asked me to marry him."
She had to blink twice before the words would register. "Marry?"
A soft pressure squeezed Claire's hand. "Yes, honey. Marry."
"But why? When?" Why in the world would Gram think about marrying again? That would be too much for her. How dare this man ask it? Did he have no concept of what Gram was going through, trying to adjust to losing her sight?
"I told him yes."
"Gram, you can't mean that." Claire fought the urge to leap from the chair. How could Gram sit there and talk about this calmly? "How can you possibly… I mean, what…?" Ugh. How could she say this without insulting her grandmother?
"Clara Lee." Gram's voice softened. "I may be old and blind, but that doesn't mean I want to stop living. I loved your Grandpop. We were a good match, together a lot of years." There was a catch in Gram's throat, and she paused. Claire looked over for signs of distress, but Gram sat peacefully, a kind of wistful smile on her face.
At last, Gram took a deep breath. "He's gone to a better place, though. He sure wouldn't want me to sit here and pine for 'im." She squeezed Claire's hand again. “Moses makes me laugh like I haven’t in years. That man is special, and he makes me happy."
Claire swallowed past the knot in her throat. "I'm glad, Gram. I want you to be happy. It's hard not to worry, though." She studied her grandmother. How lonely had she been since Grandpop died? It must have been hard, to live so many decades with a man, then suddenly be alone. Mose and Gram did seem to enjoy each other. "Is he going to retire, then, and stay in town?"
Gram's mouth pulled into a smile, one corner tipping higher than the other. "He
offered that, but I told him I'd rather ride along with him. Might as well enjoy the countryside instead of sittin' here all day."
Claire sucked in a breath, but it caught somewhere in her airway, forcing coughs that bent her over. It was several moments before she could breathe a steady gulp.
"You gonna make it, dear?"
Nodding, Claire pressed a hand to her chest. "Oh, Gram." What had her grandmother gotten herself into?
As the silence settled over them, Claire sank into the rocking of her chair. What was she going to do now? Would Gram need her at all after the wedding? It didn’t sound like it. So did that mean she should go home? What reason would there be to stay? Even if the idea of leaving formed a sick knot in her stomach.
Chapter Nine
Claire tightened her grip on the crate of food and forced her legs to move faster. According to Lilly's directions, that shanty up ahead had to be the one. Good thing, because her arms wouldn't have made it much farther with this load.
The sound of a child crying drifted through the cracks in the wood as Claire neared the door. She allowed the box to sink to the ground with a thunk and leaned on the sides of the box to catch her breath. Who would have thought a crate of food would be so heavy?
A second child started wailing inside the shack, his voice a little older than the first. Claire rose and inhaled a final deep breath, then raised her hand to knock on the worn wood of the door. A chunk was missing from the base, and as the crying grew louder inside, a gray skirt appeared in the opening below.
The door pulled open a crack, and the face of a weary woman peered down at her from the stoop. "What is it?"
Claire motioned to the crate on the ground beside her and spoke up over the crying child. "I brought food. I work at the diner with Lilly. I mean, Mrs.…" What was Lilly's last name? Oh, well. "She said your children were sick, so I brought stew and fresh bread that were left from lunch." Stopping for a breath, she watched the woman eye her another second.
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