Gambling on Love

by Sandi Hampton

“It’s bigger than I expected,” Angel said as they rode slowly down Main Street. “Why, there are hotels, a barber shop, a meat market, newspaper, and even a theater. It seems like forever since I’ve been to the theater.”

  “Don’t forget the saloons. There’s quite a few of them. All in all, there’s over two hundred businesses or so I’m told,” Evan added. “I’ve never counted them.”

  “But if this is reservation land—”

  “The only thing the government cares about is running the Sioux off their own land. A word of warning, this is a wide open town. Lots of no-goods and desperadoes here, some running from the law. So you remember that, you hear?”

  “I will.”

  “We’ll get a room at the Custer House Hotel—”

  “We?”

  He quirked his eyebrows at her. “One for you and one for me. I’m not heading back to the ranch at this late hour.”

  “Why, why, of course not. It’s way too far. I knew that.”

  “Sure you did. Later, if you want, we can find a boarding house.” He pulled Buck to a halt in front of a tall, white-washed, stately-looking building. “Here’s the hotel.” After dismounting, he turned to her and held his out his hand to her. She put her hand in his and slid to the ground. Just the mere touch of her hand sent goose bumps scampering up his arms. She followed him up the steps and into the hotel.

  “Howdy, Evan,” the desk clerk greeted them. “Ain’t seen you in a month of Sundays.”

  “Howdy, Homer. We need two rooms for the night.”

  “Yessir.” Homer snagged two keys from the rack behind him. He glanced at Angel and quirked an eyebrow at Evan. “Two rooms, you say?”

  “Yes, Homer, two rooms.”

  “Just for one night?”

  “Yeah, and send some supper up for the lady.” Evan handed a wad of bills to the clerk. “That enough?”

  Homer’s eyes lit up. “Yessir, yessir. I’ll take care of it right away. Here’s your keys.”

  Evan took the keys, then grabbed Angel’s elbow and propelled her up the stairs and down the hall. He stopped at the end of the hallway, inserted the key in the lock and opened the door. “This is your room.” He handed her the key. “Promise me you’ll remember what I told you.”

  “I will.”

  “I’m just down the hall—if you need me.” He turned to go.

  “Evan—”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks.”

  He nodded. “You’re welcome. Get some rest.”

  The door closed behind her with a loud bang. For several moments, Evan stared at the wooden barrier. He wanted to tear it down and tell her how much she meant to him. Why couldn’t he confess his feelings to her? He reached out to rap on the door, but his arm seemed paralyzed. He dropped his hands to his side and retreated to his room.

  ****

  Later that night, something awakened her. Angel opened her eyes and squinted into the darkness. After weeks on the trail, her instincts were sharp. A grating noise slid across the room, and the shadow of a man appeared at the window.

  Her breath caught in her throat. She froze, not moving a muscle. Slowly, she reached for her rifle, then realized it was across the room. The dark figure raised the window and stuck his leg through the opening. She screamed.

  Startled, the man jumped back and his head hit the glass. It shattered, and he cursed loudly.

  Pounding on the door stilled her screams. “Angel, open the door. What’s the matter?”

  Angel leaped from the bed, ran to the door, and jerked it open. Evan stood there, his gun in his hand. “Are you all right? What the hell is wrong?”

  She pointed at the window. “There. The window. A man broke in.”

  Evan dashed over to the window. His boots crunched the broken glass. He disappeared out the open window. She hurriedly found her gun. From now on, she’d sleep with it within reach.

  Footsteps sounded in the hall, and she whirled to face the door, her finger on the trigger. Homer and two sleepy-eyed men stood there.

  “Whoa, missy, put that gun down,” Homer said. “What’s going on here?”

  “Someone broke into Miss Devereaux’s room,” Evan answered as he stepped through the window back into the room. “I chased him, but he got away down the alley.”

  “Oh, dear.” Homer looked from Evan to Angel and back. “That’s never happened before. This is a respectable hotel. I never—”

  Evan held up his hand. “Miss Devereaux will need another room, Homer. The one next to me.”

  “Yes, yes. I’ll get the key.” He scurried away.

  “Show’s over, you two,” Evan said to the men left standing at the door. “Scram.” Without a word, they disappeared.

  She perched on the edge of the bed. “Thank goodness, you heard me scream.”

  “Did you get a look at the guy’s face?” He placed his gun on the nightstand, sat beside her and took her hand.

  “No, it was too dark.”

  “I only caught a glimpse of him. I tried to tell you that you were in danger. Maybe now you’ll believe me.”

  She didn’t want to believe it. “Maybe he was just trying to find his room or visit a woman.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Get your things. You’re moving into the room next to mine.”

  She didn’t argue. The open window would surely invite other varmints. She gathered her few belongings and followed Evan across the hall. Homer appeared with the key.

  “Thanks, Homer. You can go now.” Evan opened the door, ushered her inside and handed her the key. “Lock the door. Don’t open it for anybody but me.”

  She nodded. “Okay, and thanks.”

  His features softened. “You’re welcome.”

  ****

  The next morning, Angel awoke to a headache. She massaged her temples and willed the pain to go away. The events of last night had kept her awake for a long time. Evan had been right—she was in danger. But why? How could one lone female scare someone enough that they, or he, would take the chance of breaking into her hotel room?

  She ran her fingers through her tangled locks. Oh, to have a comb and brush again. She glanced in the mirror and saw her efforts had been futile. Her hair stuck out from every conceivable angle. Her clothes were rumpled from sleeping in them. But, alas, she had no others. As soon as she could, she had to purchase a new dress.

  She left her room and knocked on Evan’s door. No one answered. Maybe he was already up. She made her way downstairs to the front desk. To her surprise, Homer told her that Evan had already checked out of his room, and he’d paid her hotel bill for two weeks in advance.

  Her mind froze in disbelief, and she stumbled back up the stairs. She had to get to her room—before the tears came. He’d left—and without a goodbye, proof that she meant nothing to him. Right now he was probably on his way to Mary’s house to beg her forgiveness. With tears misting in her eyes, Angel could hardly see to unlock the door. Once inside, she fell on the bed and gave vent to her tears.

  When at last she had no more tears left, she rose and walked over to the window and stared out at the town of Deadwood. The place where her father had died.

  And nobody knew why.

  She had to get Evan out of her mind and concentrate on finding the real explanation behind her father’s death. Then she’d leave and go home to Grandpapa, Eleeza, and the Delta Princess.

  Her mind made up, she sat on the old creaky bed and counted her depressingly little stash of money. After being hidden in her boots for so long, it was not in the best of condition. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. How in Sam Hill was she going to live on such a small amount and at the same time do the repairs to her father’s cabin? She couldn’t ask Grandpapa for any money. Hopefully, he’d had enough to make the payments to the bank on the Delta Princess. Maybe she should just sell the cabin and his claim.

  Another plan would be to wire Amelia. Amelia had a generous allowance and always had money squirreled away. But what if Amelia wa
s already married to Evan’s best friend and wasn’t permitted to send her money? Only one way to find out.

  Still dressed in Chad’s too-tight pants and shirt, she headed downstairs. The disapproving stares of the women and the obvious hungry leers from the men made her uncomfortable. With her head held high, she stopped at the front desk.

  Again, the desk clerk had bad news for her. “Ain’t no telegraph in Deadwood, miss. You might check over to the freight line. Sometimes, they’ll carry a message to the nearest telegraph—for a price, that is.”

  “Thanks, Homer.” She left the hotel and walked down the street toward the freight station. Evan had lied to her. He’d known Deadwood had no telegraph. Well, he’d not actually said there was a telegraph in Deadwood; he’d merely asked her if she’d ever heard of a telegraph. Talk about splitting hairs.

  The streets teemed with people, wagons and horses. From men dressed in suits, to lanky cowboys and stooped-over miners, they crowded by her. Voices raised in three different languages filled her ears.

  Several men openly stared at her and made snide remarks. Two women passed her and frowned down their noses at her, then walked to the opposite side of the street. Warmth tinged her cheeks, but she notched her chin higher and ignored them.

  She found the freight line and made the arrangements for sending her message to Amelia. The cost dug deep into her small cache of money. With the deed to her father’s claim in her pocket, she made her way toward the men mining in Deadwood and Whitewood Creeks. She stopped twice and asked for directions and finally found her father’s claim.

  The man working at the sluice box in the knee deep water stopped and stared at her. With an “I’ll be damned,” he waded out of the water toward her. “Hey, there, missy. Let me guess. You’re Angel, Jake Plummer’s daughter, ain’t you?”

  She smiled and nodded at the gray-bearded, stoop-shouldered man. “Yes, I am.”

  “I knew it. Why, you look just like him. With all that there red hair. He talked about you all the time.”

  Her mouth gaped open. “He did?” The fact that her father had talked about her sent her heart pounding against her ribs. And all this time, she’d thought he didn’t care.

  “Yep. Always said when he struck it rich, he was a-gonna send for you.” His mustache twitched. “Sorry about him dying.”

  “Thank you, Mister...”

  “Jasper Johnson, ma’am.”

  “Did you know him well, Mr. Johnson?”

  “Just call me Jasper, ma’am. Everybody else does.” He stroked his beard. “I’d say I probably knew your pa better than anyone else around here. We worked side by side, me and him, day in and day out.”

  “Mr. Johnson, I mean Jasper, do you know why anyone would want to kill him?”

  The gray beard twitched again. “Never heard him talk about no enemies. Some cowboy shot him by accident.”

  She nodded. “Yeah. I’ve met Evan Montgomery. He said my father shot at him from a dark alleyway, and he just returned fire. Said it was in self-defense. And I believe him.”

  “I always thought it was robbery,” Jasper said. “Some claim-jumper. We miners are a prime target because everybody thinks we’re all getting rich, but that ain’t so.”

  “My father had the deed to his cabin and the deed to this claim on him when Evan, Mr. Montgomery, found him. My father asked him to find me and give me the deeds. Why would he ask the man who shot him to do that? It doesn’t make sense that it was a robbery.”

  Jasper stroked his beard. “Hmmm, never heard that.”

  “Listen, Jasper, you know anybody that might want to buy my father’s claim? I need the money.”

  “Well, I’ll be glad to ask around, Miss Angel. New people coming in here all the time.”

  “I’d really appreciate that. I’m staying at the Custer Hotel if you find anyone interested.”

  “All right, little lady. I’ll get the word out.”

  “Thanks. It was nice talking to you.”

  “Same here.”

  With a smile, she turned and headed back to the hotel. With the possibility that she could sell the claim, her spirits rose. Somehow, she’d get through this. It was such a beautiful day that she decided to take a walk around Deadwood. She passed McDaniels’ Theater, Flaherty’s Barber Shop, Lewis & Mann Saloon, Shoudy’s City Meat Market, and the newspaper office, The Black Hills Pioneer.

  And a dress shop. And a beautiful dress in the window.

  Should she? It’d take a big bite out of her meager funds, but it’d make her look presentable and help her blend in with the townspeople. A smile creased her lips. She’d do it.

  An hour later, she decided she looked better than presentable—she looked fantastic. Her new dress fit her as though it had been made for her. Made of yellow sprigged muslin with tiny blue and pink flowers, the bodice hugged her figure. The long sleeves boasted lace edging. The full skirt swirled around her feet. The shopkeeper had even thrown in a pair of slippers, a shawl, and a hair brush. She hummed to herself as she walked back toward the hotel.

  Then she saw the sign. United States Army.

  Her mouth set in a stern line, she opened the door and marched inside. If the Army was the law in this area, then this was where she’d start. But what would she say? Why did my father shoot at Evan? Who ransacked his cabin? What were they looking for? The Army probably didn’t have any more answers than she did, and making her presence known would probably alert the people who’d searched the cabin that she was here. She didn’t care; she wanted answers, and she wanted them now.

  Chapter 11

  As Angel entered the office, the soldier behind the desk jumped to his feet and sent her an appreciative gaze. She smiled to herself. The new dress had been well worth the money. Had she still been dressed in Chad’s castoffs, he might have tried to chase her away.

  “Good morning, ma’am. Can I help you?”

  His obvious admiration changed her approach. She had been intent on demanding to see whoever was in charge, but she quickly decided otherwise. Eleeza always said you could catch more flies with honey than vinegar. “Why, yes, sir. I’m new here to Deadwood, and I wanted to see the person in charge.” She stepped closer to the young man and gave him her sweetest smile. “Would that be you, Captain?”

  The young man blushed. “Well, no, ma’am. I’m Corporal Bradley. Captain Jenkins is in charge, but I’m afraid he’s very busy, ma’am. He doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

  She stepped closer and touched his arm. She forced a tear to her eye, then pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “Oh my, oh my. I really wanted to see him.”

  Obviously touched, the soldier pulled a chair up next to his desk and motioned at it. “Please, ma’am, don’t take on so. Won’t you have a seat?”

  “Yes, thank you. You’re so kind.” She sniffed loudly into her handkerchief.

  “Could I get you some water?”

  “No, thank you. When do you think I might be able to see your Captain Jenkins?”

  “Well—

  He’s beginning to weaken. “You see, my father’s been killed, and I’m all alone here. And I’m so very scared...”

  He weakened more. “Well, maybe, the Captain could spare a few minutes now.”

  “Oh, I would be forever grateful.”

  “You wait here, and I’ll see. I’m not making any promises, mind you. What was your name, miss?”

  “Devereaux, Angel Devereaux.”

  He nodded at her, then walked to the back of the room. He stopped and rapped on the door. Without waiting for an answer, he opened it and stepped inside. In a few minutes, he returned, wearing a wide grin. “Captain Jenkins can see you now. Follow me, please.”

  “Oh, thank you. You’re so kind. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.” She rose to her feet and followed the young soldier into the inner sanctum.

  “Miss Devereax, may I present Captain Warren Jenkins. Captain Jenkins, Miss Devereaux.” He stepped aside, and she could
see the busy Captain Jenkins. He rose to his feet. Tall with a slight build, the officer wore his uniform well. Admiring brown eyes twinkled at her. Again, she was glad she’d stopped to purchase the dress.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Devereaux.” He turned to the corporal. “Dismissed.”

  “Yessir.” Without a glance at her, the young soldier disappeared out the door.

  Captain Jenkins turned his attention back to her. “Please sit down.” She did as he said. He returned to his seat behind the desk. “What can I do for you? Corporal Bradley said you were very upset and that your father has been killed?”

  “Yes, Captain. Yes, I came here from St. Louis to see him and discovered...” She put her handkerchief to her eyes. This time she didn’t have to pretend—the tears were real.

  “When did this happen?”

  “A few weeks ago.”

  “What was his name?”

  “Jake Plummer.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “My father’s name was Jake Plummer.”

  “Aye, yes. I remember that. Your father shot at a cowboy by the name of Evan Montgomery. Mr. Montgomery returned fire, and your father was killed. I’m very sorry.”

  “But my father would never have done such a thing. There must have been some reason. Did you do an investigation?”

  Captain Jenkins leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “No, ma’am. I didn’t. This is a Federal Indian Reservation, and there is no civil law enforcement here. My job, the Army’s job, is to keep the Indians in line. I don’t have the manpower to pursue criminals in an illegal mining camp. I’m very sorry, ma’am.”

  “Surely there’s something that can be done, Captain.”

  “Deadwood has a mayor and a citizens’ committee. Have you been to see them?”

  She rose to her feet. “No, not yet but rest assured, sir, I will.”

  He grinned at her. “I have no doubt about that.” He stood and walked around the desk. “Are you going to be in Deadwood long?”

  “As long as it takes, Captain.”

  “Maybe I’ll see you around town. Is there a...Mr. Devereaux?”

  “No.”

  “Perhaps we could have dinner one night.”