Calico

by Raine Cantrell

  “They curtsy, Maggie. That’s what ladies do. Men bow.”

  If he had sounded in the least like he was poking fun at her, she would have let him have it, but he didn’t. Nor did he sound teasing. Trying to follow McCready’s moods was like trying to follow a played-out vein that might, if you stayed with it, pay off with a bonanza. Maggie tried very hard to sidestep where her own thoughts were taking her. McCready didn’t help.

  “You’re halfway to being a lady, Maggie. You’re just as soft, as sleek, and as graceful as any woman I’ve seen.”

  “No more games, McCready.”

  “No games. Back to as honest as I get, Maggie.”

  The husky edge in his voice warned her what she would find if she turned around. Maggie faced him. She blocked the firelight so he was bathed in shadows and nothing else. She lost her breath somewhere and couldn’t find it for moments.

  Mines and money were forgotten. McCready was as naked as Adam and twice as proud. He had a right to be, she thought, following his gaze to where his shirt clung damply to her breasts.

  “Maggie, it’s time for dessert.”

  She closed her eyes against the whisper and the promise that drifted across the cabin to her. The fire at her back couldn’t touch the blaze that came from his eyes. She felt herself weakening, and fought, but was already thinking of the haven she would find in his arms.

  “Maggie?”

  “I’ve not made up me mind.”

  “I have. I’m hungry enough to forget my pride, Maggie.”

  She didn’t need his coaxing to make up her mind for her. Her body quickened at his soft drawl. But she had pride, too.

  “I’ll be havin’ your answer about me mines first.”

  The gleam in her eyes told him she meant it. But he couldn’t lie. He wasn’t thinking about the damn mines. “Yours, mine, just be generous with me, Maggie. As I’ll be with you. We’ll share, everything, Maggie, equally and together.”

  “You’ve the devil’s silver tongue, an’ that’s no lie.”

  “So sure? Come to me, Maggie.” He was ready to tell her that he would sell his soul to the devil.

  Satisfied that she had gotten what she wanted from him, Maggie slipped the shirt off over her head.

  Wearing nothing more than her Irish pride, she went to him.

  Cora Ann was drenched in fear. Listening at Dutch’s bedroom door, sure that he was asleep, she tiptoed down the steps and made her way to the storeroom. A low warning growl made her hesitate, but she had William’s threat to tell where she was and jammed the key she had taken earlier from behind the bar into the lock. Just before she turned it, Cora Ann slipped the bolt on the back door and opened it.

  The dog’s growls intensified, and she was shaking as she began to turn the key. Somewhere in the dark William was waiting to follow Satin to Maggie.

  Flattening herself against the wall, she unlocked the door. Taking a deep breath, she shoved it open. Satin shot out and disappeared before Cora Ann sank to the floor.

  She flung the key outside, knowing it was foolish. Dutch would know that she was the one who let Satin out. Once he saw William gone, he would have to know.

  Gathering herself to move, she thought of her packed bags waiting upstairs. William promised to leave her horse saddled out front. Before morning she would be gone from Cooney Camp.

  Pamela sniffed prettily into her hankie. At the rate Lars was apologizing, she would be away from Cooney Camp by nightfall.

  She drew her handmade quilt closer to her chin and looked at Lars. “I don’t understand all that you’re saying. You took advantage of me, Lars. I was an innocent … there is no other way to make things right but for you to marry me.” She hid the gleam in her eyes beneath a calculated sweep of her lashes. Lars owned his own mill plus stands of timber. He told her he’d bought part of a shipping line to ship his lumber and planned to own it all within two years. But he was not forthcoming with an offer of marriage.

  “If my father had not been detained, this never would have happened.” The tears were very real when Pamela lifted her gaze to his. “I thought you were a gentleman. I would never have let you stay for supper otherwise. And when you began telling me all those stories about your mill and how lumber is cut, I felt safe with you. I let you hold my hand. I let you kiss me and…” She wailed, louder this time, for she had taken the biggest gamble of her life and was not getting what she wanted.

  “I did not mean for this to happen. I could not leave you here alone when you were still afraid that the man Ryder would come back and hurt you.” Cradling his head in his hands, Lars rocked back and forth on the edge of the bed. He couldn’t think clearly. He didn’t know how he’d wound up in Pamela’s bed, taking from her what only belonged to her husband.

  “Didn’t you … like me a little, Lars?”

  Her timid voice cut through his own pain. “Never have I done such a thing. But ja, I liked you more than a little. You are a fine young woman, Pamela. You will make a man a good wife.”

  “Then why won’t you marry me?”

  Her reddened eyes were no match for the flush that colored Lars’s skin. “You try to understand, ja? I cannot marry you.”

  Despair filled her. She glanced around her room, searching for a clue as to why he kept insisting that he couldn’t marry her. The rough chinked log walls were all covered with lace curtains in an attempt to bring back the civilized world she had to leave behind. An ornately flower and fruit carved lady’s slipper chair sat in one corner, its upholstery almost hidden by the satin and lace-edged pillows from her bed. The top of her polished bureau held an array of creams and perfumes, her one good bonnet, and bits of ribbon. Her gaze was drawn to the corner of the four-poster bed, where she cringed beneath its crocheted canopy. Everywhere she looked, virginal white mocked her for what she had lost.

  Pamela saw that Lars was already gathering up his shirt, tie, and jacket. He was going to leave her. And with him went her chance to get away from there. A rage spread through her, shaking her with its force.

  She had tried pretty; she could lose nothing more by letting anger free.

  “Mr. Vladimir, look at me,” she demanded, deliberately letting the quilt slide down to her waist. “Tell me why! Damn you! I’ve a right to know why you can’t marry me.”

  Chapter 17

  William Berger knew his plan was simple and risky. Once Cora Ann set the dog free, all he had to do was follow her to where Maggie was hiding. If he hadn’t been straining to hear a sound, he would never have known that the back door to the Rawhider had been opened. What he hadn’t counted on was that the dog would move like a shot once free of her confinement. He lost sight of her in the dark.

  Cora Ann had told him where Maggie’s cabin was, and he allowed that the dog might go there. He urged his horse forward, letting him pick his way. After the bungling job Thadius had done, he was going to succeed.

  He swore softly as his horse’s hooves clattered over the wooden bridge. Just as he reached the other side, a howl rent the night.

  He wasn’t alarmed. He believed everything Cora Ann had told him about Maggie and her dog. It was natural for the animal to howl when she didn’t find who she was looking for up there.

  But the howling continued. It steadily grew in volume. Cursing under his breath, William abandoned his horse and began to make his way on foot, determined to make his plan work, whatever the cost.

  Within the shacks and tents of Cooney Camp, miners woke. Most of these men had heard that howling once before when Mohawk Pete had been found murdered.

  Down below in the Rawhider, Dutch muttered and turned in his bed, trying to ignore Satin’s latest ploy to gain his attention. It was minutes before he realized that the sound was drifting in from his window, not coming up through the floor. In the following seconds he knew the thumps he heard were coming from the hallway outside his room.

  “By the saints in heaven!” he roared, tossing off his
blanket. “Can’t you wait till you get to your room?” Still swearing, he grabbed his pants and pulled them on, confused by Satin’s apparent freedom. He knew he had locked the door.

  But when he stepped out into the hall expecting to find either the Rose or Cora Ann and some man, there was no one. Scratching his belly, Dutch shook off the last vestige of sleep. Satin was outside, and someone was sneaking around downstairs! His bellow shook the rafters.

  Cora Ann dropped her two carpet bags and ran.

  Still bellowing, Dutch made a leap for the fleeing shadow before it reached the door. His fist closed on a handful of cloth just as his body slammed something smaller and much softer than himself against the barred floor.

  He heard air whistle by when the body sagged, and he was forced to hold it up. For a few seconds he was stunned.

  The string of curses told him who he had long before he hauled her back to the bar and shoved her down to the floor. Planting his bare foot on the squirming woman, Dutch lit the lantern.

  “What the hell is going on, Cora Ann?”

  Satin’s howling split the night. Dutch raised Cora Ann to her feet and glared at her. With one hand on her arm he held her still.

  “What did you do to Satin?”

  “Nothing. I … I…”

  “Talk, damn you!” he yelled, shaking her.

  “I f-felt sorry for her and, and, l-let her out.” Dutch’s shaking of her body was nothing to compare with the inner quaking that racked her. She was done for, and she knew it would take a small miracle to get her out of this.

  Dutch was torn between wanting to beat the truth out of her and going after Satin. The echo of a shot made his decision. Cora Ann only confirmed it.

  “I didn’t mean any harm, Dutch. I swear it.”

  “The hell you didn’t. You were born stirring up trouble. It was that man, wasn’t it? Knew I shouldn’t’ve let him hang around. Move,” he ordered, pushing her ahead of him.

  “Where?”

  “Your room. And hurry. I’d like to hear the tale of why you did this, but if something happens to Satin, I’ll take it out of your hide. That is, I will if Maggie don’t get to you first.”

  Wild-eyed, Cora Ann grabbed the edge of the bar trying to prevent him from carrying out his plan. “You don’t understand! Dutch, please let me go,” she wailed. “I’ll be gone and you’ll never see me again.”

  “Up the stairs or I’ll carry you there.”

  Cora Ann backed up the stairs, pleading, crying, and when these didn’t work, she cursed him all over again.

  Dutch ignored her. He crowded her down the hall to her room, pushed open the door and shoved her inside.

  The edge of the bed stopped Cora Ann from falling. “What are you going to do?” She’d never seen Dutch in such a rage. And fear of William Berger rapidly left her.

  “Lock you in where you can’t do no harm,” he answered. He took the key and pulled the door shut with a force that shook its frame. A kittenlike cry made him look up to find the Rose staring open-mouthed at him. “If you don’t want the same, get back where you belong!” he shouted over Cora Ann’s furious pounding and wails.

  The Rose’s door slammed just as he twisted the key in the lock. To make sure she’d stay put, he took the key with him to his room. He had to find Satin before that son of a bitch killed her. Or the dog found Maggie and McCready, he added, pulling on his boots. Carrying his shirt, he returned to the bar, took his gun, and shoved it into his waistband.

  And as he ran toward Maggie’s cabin, he knew he had better find that dog, or Maggie would skin him and pin his hide out to dry.

  William’s shot wounded the dog, slowing her down as he intended. Her pitched yelp finally cut off the howling. But he wasn’t going to have time to search for her. The shot had awakened the whole mining camp. He could see shadows of men moving up toward the cabin carrying lanterns.

  He had to get away without being seen. As long as no one knew it was him, he could stay in Cooney Camp until Maggie returned. Cora Ann couldn’t give him away. She was long gone.

  But the only way back down was the way the muttering miners were coming up.

  A little action to sweeten the reward. His words came back to haunt him. That didn’t include being at the end of a rope.

  But William had not gotten where he was by being afraid. He waited until the men were milling about the front of the cabin, listening to one yell out that no one was inside. Keeping flat to the wall, he made his way along the side and when the first man’s back came in view, William knew he would once again succeed.

  He snuck in behind the men, smiling to hear the angry muttering, and when he heard it reach the proper pitch, he yelled, “There’s fire down below!”

  In a collective rush the men ran. Everything they owned was in the tents and shacks that lined the surrounding area. William had counted on that. But once again he found that he had lost the dog in the ensuing melee. Not a whimper was to be heard.

  Dutch heard the trampling rush of miners and braced himself at the end of the wooden bridge to stop them.

  “Move, Dutch. There’s fire!” more than one man yelled.

  “Ain’t no fire. It was a trick to get you away from Maggie’s cabin. The son of a bitch that shot Satin is up there.”

  Ira pushed his way through the crowd and with him came Slick. “Ain’t no one up there. Not even the dog.”

  The lanterns’ light showed Dutch the nods of most of the men. “Dammit!” He pounded his fist on the wood rail and heard the crack. “Ira, stay at the Rawhider. Tend bar. I’ve got business. And whatever else you do, Ira, don’t let Cora Ann out.”

  “McCready business?” Ira called out, coming off the bridge.

  “Maggie business,” Dutch returned.

  “What’d ya figure she’ll do to Dutch iffen something happened to Satin?” Slick asked Ira as the panic of the fire left them and they ambled their way to the Rawhider.

  “Figure Maggie’ll have his hide. Skinned neat as can be an’ staked out in front of the Rawhider for all to see.”

  “Yeah. I sorta figured the same.”

  Dutch knew the men were speculating about what Maggie would do to him. But he couldn’t worry about it now. He had to lose time going back to get his horse along with Maggie’s and McCready’s.

  The lean-to wasn’t barred, and Dutch fumbled until he found the lantern and lit it. The restless stampings of the horses distracted him, but when he heard a loud snore again, he knew he wasn’t alone. Drawing his gun, he headed for the only empty stall.

  A man had to have finished off a keg of whiskey to sleep through all the excitement. But when Dutch held the lantern high and light shone down at the man sprawled in the straw, he amended his estimate. A barrel more likely to put this big man down so soundly.

  Dutch kicked his boot, then kicked it harder to rouse him.

  With a roar and two fistfuls of straw, Lars bolted upright. Light blinded him. He threw aside the straw to shield his eyes with his hands. “Who is there?”

  “Never mind who I am. Who the hell are you?” Dutch lowered the lantern, not out of consideration, but to show the man the gun which he held. “I’m waiting for an answer.”

  It was too much for Lars. Twice now he had had guns pointed at him in Cooney Camp. But this man meant business. There was no wavering in the hand holding the weapon on him. Lars slowly raised his hands high.

  “Larson Vladimir, I am. I come from the territory of Washington.”

  “And you just up and decided to sleep in here?”

  Lars colored and lowered his hands, deciding that the man would have shot him if he wanted, or demanded his money by now if he was going to rob him. But he was not going to tell this man or anyone what happened with Pamela Burton after he explained why he could not marry her and she threw him out.

  “The door was not locked. There was no place to go so late,” he offered lamely.

  “Likely. But what are
you doing in Cooney Camp? You ain’t a miner and you ain’t carrying a gun.”

  “Ja. This is true. I come to look for Mary O’Roarke.”

  “Mary O’Roarke? Oh, you mean Maggie. Well, you wasted your time, fella. She’s not here.” Instinct built over the years told Dutch that he didn’t have to worry about this man. He lowered his gun, then stuck it back in his waistband. Besides, he had figured he had a good thirty pounds more on him.

  But when he left the stall to saddle the horses, Lars stumbled out after him.

  “Wait. Please. You tell me where she is, ja?”

  “Can’t do that. But if you want to tell me what you’re wanting with Maggie, I’ll tell her for you.”

  Lars wanted nothing so much as to leave this place. He took the measure of the man that was near his equal in size and weight.

  Dutch quickly smoothed the saddle blanket over his horse’s back before he slung the saddle on. He caught the man’s hesitation to speak.

  “Name’s Dutch. I tend bar over at the Rawhider. You fixing to stay in Cooney Camp for a while, go over to Miss Mae’s an’ tell her I sent you. She’ll give you a room.”

  “You will be seeing Mary O’Roarke soon?”

  “Sooner than I’d like. But don’t ask to come with me. You can’t.” Dutch eased the bit into the horse’s mouth, slid the ear straps in place, and began on McCready’s horse.

  Lars had made three wrong decisions yesterday. He should have refused coffee, supper, and the invitation to bed Pamela Burton. He could add a fourth wrong decision or have his first right one by trusting Dutch with his reason. Lars quickly chose to tell Dutch why he wanted to see Mary O’Roarke.

  “Mister, you’d better have proof,” Dutch demanded, curling his hands into fists. “If you’re lying,” he yelled over Lars’s repeated, ja, ja, “I’ll break you into matchsticks and grind you up like sawdust!”

  “Here. You see.” Lars reached into his jacket and showed Dutch the papers he had.