The Agent's Mail-Order Bride

by Heidi Vanlandingham

  “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened?”

  “It was almost a month ago now, but I ain’t too sure it was an accident. The last two weeks of his life, Jerry came home frettin’ something awful because of strange happenings. Supplies disappeared—dynamite—and several tunnels he secured himself using the safer box frames—like they used at the Comstock lode. Well, they gave way. Told me himself it wasn’t possible for them to just fall apart. Someone would have had to cut those beams or remove the nails, which would have been difficult. One of the miners reported seeing a stranger skulking about, but the man disappeared when the miner hollered at him. Poor Jerry and Mr. Adams didn’t have a chance—walked right into the explosion.”

  “Mr. Adams...that wouldn’t be Monty Adams would it?” Cat asked.

  “Sure it would. Right nice young fella and the complete opposite of his brother and sister. Those two are ornerier than coyotes, if you ask me. Did you know Monty?”

  Cat shook her head and accepted a small bowl of stew from Ayana who handed the bowl in her other hand to Matilda. Cat watched as her friend continued dispensing the food to the men just coming off their shift and quickly relieved by the next group of miners waiting in line for their turn.

  “I came to Alta to be his mail-order bride, but when I got here, he was already dead.”

  “I thought you said you just got married?” Matilda’s black brows scrunched together.

  “Tate needed a bride, so I guess he sort of took Mr. Adams’ place. That would make me a mail-order bride de facto.”

  “I understand that term—my father was an attorney when this country was just beginning. Had him a profitable business back in Boston. You attended school?”

  Cat nodded. “I did. My parents believed schooling was just as important for a girl as it is for a boy.”

  “Smart people. Where are they now?”

  “My mother died just before the War Between the States ended. Our home was used as a layover for both sides. The Confederates didn’t like the Union troops staying there, so they burned it. Mama refused to leave her home. She never made it out. My father decided he’d had enough of Virginia, so we headed out here, but he was killed crossing the Mississippi River.”

  “Seems you’ve seen a bit of bad times as well. Makes us alike, that does.”

  Cat smiled up at Matilda. “Yes, ma’am, it does.”

  A shout sounded from the mine, and Cat jumped to her feet. Part of her wanted to run and see what they’d found, but common sense forced her to stay where she was. The last thing the men needed was for her to be in their way.

  “Here one comes!” a voice from inside the tunnel hollered.

  She held her breath as a dirt-covered figure staggered outside. Propped up between two miners, they all three stumbled over to a tall pine tree where they eased him to the ground. He laid his head back against the trunk. Through the dirt and blood covering his face from a nasty gash above his left eye, she realized who the man was.

  “Thad!” she yelled. Grabbing her long skirt in her fists, she hurried toward him. Just as she reached him, Ayana appeared, her hands filled with rags and the small sewing kit Cat had seen her use once before after a miner roughed up one of the dancehall girls.

  Ayana handed Cat a rag. “While I thread the needle, I need you to clean out the dirt and blood around the wound. Be thorough and try to wash out as much as you can so infection doesn’t set in.”

  Cat nodded and gently wiped Thad’s pale face. When she cleaned the bottom edge of the wound, he flinched but, otherwise, didn’t move.

  “I’m sorry, Thad, but this is going to hurt.”

  “Just get it over with. I trust you.” His voice was so low, Cat almost didn’t hear him over the miners’ hollering behind them, but she didn’t dare look over and see what they were yelling about as she finished wiping away the last of the blood. She held Thad’s face still while Ayana sewed up the still-bleeding head wound.

  “Catriona!” Matilda hollered.

  Cat turned to see the elderly woman hobbling toward them, one arm flung out as she pointed to another man being carried from the mine by two burly men. One held the unconscious man under his arms and the other gripped him by his boots. She knew without a question who the hurt man was. Tate. She would recognize him anywhere, no matter how filthy he was.

  “Ayana?”

  Her friend gave her a quick smile but returned her focus on what she was doing. “Go to him. I am almost finished here.”

  Grabbing a clean rag, Cat struggled to a stand and stumbled over to her husband. She dropped to her knees and brushed the hair back from his forehead. One side of his face was slightly swollen and he had a mess of cuts and bruises on one cheek. She ran her fingers through his hair, but when she pulled her hands away, one was covered in bright red blood.

  She wiped her hands and carefully turned his head to one side to examine the cut closer. It wasn’t as serious as she originally thought and breathed a small sigh of relief. She removed most of the dirt and grime from his face, taking extra care with the angry-looking cuts on his cheek. Turning to his head, she wiped away embedded pebbles and dirt, but the wound continued to bleed. She ran her hands down his arms, torso, and legs for other injuries, but found nothing. For now, at least, the only issue was the laceration on the back of his head.

  Ayana kneeled on the cold ground beside her and set the sewing basket between then.

  “How is he?”

  “Other than a cut on his head and his cheek, I couldn’t find anything else wrong. To check for broken bones or something worse, we’re going to have to wait until he wakes up.”

  “You cleaned the head wound?”

  “Yes. Do you need me to hold his head?”

  “Probably a good idea. I would hate for him to wake up fighting while I’m trying to suture it closed—”

  More hollering began, cutting off whatever Ayana had said. Turning, Cat noticed another man being carried from the mine, but instead of bringing him over to where she and Matilda waited, the men laid him down by the mine. Right behind them came two more men carrying a fourth person, but his small stature made her think it could be a boy instead. They laid him next to the first man.

  “Why aren’t they bringing those two over here? I’m sure they’ll need suturing too.”

  Ayana’s dark gaze met hers, sadness in her eyes. “Nothing will help them now.”

  Cat frowned, twisting around for another quick glance, then looked back at the slight rise and fall of Tate’s chest, thankful he was still alive.

  “That’s so sad,” she whispered.

  “Just life is all,” Matilda muttered behind her. “These two all right? Anything I can do?”

  “There,” Ayana said and sat back on her heels. “All done with the cut on his scalp. Now we’ll just have to wait until he wakes up to see if there are any other injuries.”

  She slowly rose to her feet and took Matilda’s extended hand, winding the elderly lady’s arm through hers. Ayana patted the woman’s blue-veined hand.

  “Thank you for the offer, Matilda. All I need right now is a cup of your fabulous coffee and a healthy dose of your sharp wit.”

  Matilda let out a cackle. “Flattery will get you everywhere, my friend!”

  Cat scooted closer to Tate’s head, her gaze never leaving his face. She prayed for him to open his eyes. To be all right.

  “Who were they?” she asked. “The two men who died.”

  “From here, looks like Bernie Mitchell...poor guy. A right nice man, too. A gentleman who always made a lady feel special—in a good way, mind you,” Matilda said.

  “Not like those bums frequenting the saloon. If I had my way, the men going there every night can all but crawl back into the ground where they came from. No better than animals, the lot of them!”

  “Bernie never went anywhere without Scottie Mitchell following right behind him. Scottie was his cousin. Not quite right in the head, if you gather my meaning, but he was a nice enoug
h kid. Tried to emulate Bernie in everything he did. Poor guy. From the looks of it, he didn’t stand a chance.”

  Cat glanced over at the bodies, this time noticing what she hadn’t seen before. The smaller man’s legs were gone, and what was left had been burned to a crisp.

  “Oh my,” she covered her mouth with her hand, trying to keep her stomach down where it belonged. Tate moaned and slung out his arm, almost hitting Cat. She grabbed his hand and held it to her chest. With her other hand, she feathered the back of her hand down his uninjured cheek.

  “What the hell happened?” Tate’s voice was froggy, as if his throat was raw. He cleared it and raised his free hand to his face, grimacing when his dirty fingers touched the skin on his injured cheek.

  “Thad?”

  “He’s fine, a cut on his forehead, but seems to be all right otherwise. Ayana sutured him up, just like she did you. You had a deep cut on your scalp. Do you hurt anywhere else? Can you move your legs?”

  He groaned. “I hurt everywhere.”

  He struggled to sit up, but she leaned over, licking her dry lips, her hand splayed across his chest, stopping him. Without warning, he lifted his head just high enough to press his mouth to hers. She hesitated a moment then gave in to the sweetness of his kiss. He tasted a bit like burned meat, but she didn’t care.

  Her first kiss. From the way his tongue delved in the depths of her mouth, making her insides all jittery and tight, she never wanted it to stop. A small growl vibrated against her lips, and he pulled away, letting his head drop to the ground with low moan.

  “What about the other man who was with us? Bernie something.”

  She brushed back a dark lock of hair from his forehead.

  “He didn’t make it. Neither did his cousin who they think was following you out of the mine.”

  “Damn. Bernie seemed like a nice guy.” Tate cracked open his eyes and grimaced again. “How long were we in there?”

  “Several hours. The miners started digging as soon as the collapse happened.”

  “Not a collapse.”

  She frowned. “What?”

  “Someone set an explosion. If it had gone off a minute later, we would all be dead.”

  Cat leaned over his chest and met his tired gaze.

  “Don’t think for one moment, mister, that I’m going to let you out of this marriage that easy. Maybe you’ll listen to reason now and let me help. Just so you know, I’m not going anywhere. I can be very stubborn when I want to be, so get used to it. And don’t think you’re getting out of this conversation just because you’re injured either. We’ll discuss this again once you’re home.”

  Thad chuckled behind her.

  “You’ve got your hands full with this one, bub. Very, very full.”

  Chapter 10

  Tate stared at the cards in his hand, the faces and numbers on each blurring into one as his focus on the game waned. The saloon was the last place he wanted to be, but he couldn’t bring himself to go home. Not yet. Cat would be there, worrying and fretting over his every hiccup and movement. Four days had passed since the explosion in the mine, and he was going stir-crazy. He wasn’t one to sit around doing nothing. Not to mention he and Thad were falling further behind in their quest to gather enough evidence to bring Sutton in.

  “Tate, it’s your turn.” The miner sat on his right, slouched down in the chair as if the world rested on his slumped shoulders. Tate couldn’t remember the man’s name, but he seemed nice enough, if not a bit impatient.

  He refocused, not wanting to lose any more money than he had so far, which was too much. He discarded the two of clubs and drew a single card from the deck. Jack of Hearts. He placed the card in front of the Jack of Spades and the Jack of Diamonds then dropped several coins into the brass bowl in the center of the table.

  The miner who’d spoken to him shook his head and laid his cards face down on the table.

  “Too rich for me. Gotta bring home something or my wife’s gonna tar and feather me til Judgment Day.”

  The other two men held tight and dropped their coins into the bowl then laid down their cards. The middle man had two eights. The man to his right held two fives and two sevens. Tate bit back his smile and spread his hand out, face-up, on the table to show his four of a kind—the top card, his Jack of Hearts.

  “Damn, Tate, the Jack of Hearts seems to be kind of partial to you, don’t he?” The man to his right asked, a scowl on wrinkled face. The man in the middle didn’t say a word and merely scooted back his chair with a loud screech and stomped toward the bar.

  The man to his left stared at Tate a moment and shrugged.

  “Don’t hold it personal. He’s been antsy since the explosion. None of us like the situation here, but here’s where the ore is.” Sliding from his chair without much of a sound, he touched the brim of his hat and walked to the bar and sat beside his friend, who was nursing a glass of beer.

  “Awww, don’t worry about those two none,” the first miner said. “Sore losers, always have been. In case you don’t remember, my name’s Bob Flanders. You’re probably looking for the man who caused the explosion…well, those two weren’t there, and I was at home.” Bob stood, his fingers working the frayed edge of his hat brim.

  “The wife was makin’ me a meat pie when I left that morning, and it was all I could think about, so I went home to get me some. I’d just finished when the force of the blast almost knocked the apple tarts cooling on the stove to the floor. Would of been a damn shame too with Christmas in just a few days. She makes them for me every year—brings back memories of my childhood.”

  The man turned to leave then hesitated and glanced back at him.

  “Just ‘tween you and me, you should watch your back from here on out. Those two are scalawags, and I wouldn’t trust them as far as I could throw ‘em. Also thought you ought to know that Black’s been askin’ a lot of questions about you as well. Seems you rubbed a few people the wrong way since your arrival.”

  The older miner threw a furtive glance toward the bar.

  “Just thought you oughtta know. No one deserves to be ambushed, and that’s what this is aiming to be...if you know what I mean.”

  Tate watched the miner leave the saloon, glad for the warning, although he already read the signs himself. He, and probably Thad too, were about to be waylaid. The problem was, he couldn’t tell from which direction it would come. Was Sutton out to get him? Had he discovered why Tate and Thad were in town—had Welder betrayed them? Or was Black working on his own—for his own benefit? All bets were off with that man. Tate was almost certain he’d seen the man’s face on a wanted poster, but he wasn’t one hundred percent sure.

  Flanders seemed to be one of the good guys, but with the stakes high, he wasn’t going to take the chance of trusting him unless he or Thad had to. He scrubbed his face and stared into the crowded saloon, watching a few of the miners getting rowdy. Christmas. How had that slipped his mind? He could almost smell the mincemeat and fruit pies he and Thad used to steal from the bakery near the alleyway where they slept each night. They would wake up ravenous and, sometimes, if the baker felt generous, he would give them each a few of the tarts with broken crusts.

  “What’s got you smiling?” Thad asked as he dropped into the chair where Flanders had sat.

  “Just thinking about mincemeat tarts.”

  Thad sat back with a frown, which turned into a quick grimace when the movement pulled at the sutures in the wound over his eye. At least his face wasn’t swollen anymore, and the bruised skin had turned a sickly green hue. His own cheek looked about the same, but they were both healing, thanks to Ayana and Cat.

  “Are you all right?” Thad asked.

  Tate smiled. “Yeah. Just had an interesting conversation with one of the miners. Name of Bob Flanders. When the explosion happened, he was home eating with his wife. Said her mincemeat tarts almost fell to the floor when the blast occurred. I haven’t had a good tart in years.”

  “I’ll buy yo
u one for Christmas.” Thad shook his head. “Surely that’s not all he said?”

  “Nope. Warned me about the two men at the bar talking to Black. Also warned me about Black.”

  Thad glanced over his shoulder then leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table.

  “What exactly did he say?”

  “Just that I shouldn’t trust them. They’re up to something...the three of them.” Tate hesitated, almost afraid to say anything more, but he wanted to get Thad’s opinion.

  “There might be a silent party. Someone else who’s doing the dirty work for Black. Not sure if Sutton’s in on it or if whoever it might be is trying to make a play for what Sutton has.”

  “Any suspicions as to who it could be?”

  Tate shrugged. “An idea or two, but I want to keep an open mind. I need you to keep your eyes and ears open as well. Buddy up with Flanders. See if he knows or suspects anything else. He has a wife to protect and could be too scared to say much to me. You, on the other hand...”

  “What about Welder? I don’t like the shifty way he’s acting. And why is he calling attention to us? That’s not like him, especially knowing we’re on assignment.”

  “Well, that’s another thing. I didn’t tell him the real reason why we’re here. He thinks Pinkerton considered us too much of a risk and that the gang is getting back together again.”

  Thad’s eyes widened. “Why in hell would he think that?”

  “Our last job, several suspicious things happened, but I chalked them up to coincidence, but my doubts about him began then, so I threw him a bone to chew on to see where it would take him. Now, he’s here and things are happening again.”

  He leaned forward, his elbows digging into the tabletop. “For God’s sake, Thad, Don left the mine and only minutes later, it exploded with us in it!”

  Frustrated, Tate picked up the deck of cards and shuffled them several times.

  “We’re fixing to have company. Black’s making his way over here. Go back to the mine and do your job.”

  “You sure?” Thad whispered, giving him a worried scowl, but Tate only shook his head and continued shuffling the cards. Thad stood, the chair dragging on the floor behind him.