Ben walked on, doing his damnedest to imitate Emily’s graceful flounce. When at last he reached the sheriff’s office, he pranced over the porch, then opened the door, and with tiny, mincing steps, he went inside.
Caleb Bryant sat at a small desk, bowed over the latest edition of the Sunset Gazette. He glanced up. A pained look came into his eyes.
“Ma’am?” he said in a strangled voice as he fought for balance. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“I need to talk to you. Alone.” Unsure if he and the sheriff were the only ones present, Ben spoke in a shrill, high-pitched voice.
Sheriff Bryant’s eyes grew rounder and bigger. He flew out of his chair and backed away.
The lawman didn’t have a clue to his identity, Ben realized. Good. His disguise worked. Now, he’d have a bit of fun before he got down to business. He gestured toward a door at the back of the office. “Well, come along, young man,” he called, placing one hand beneath his chin and tilting his head to the side, mimicking a pose he’d seen Emily take on more than one occasion—usually when she wanted something.
But Bryant wasn’t going anywhere. He stood rooted to the floor. “Ma’am, just what is it you want to discuss with me? I reckon we can parlay right here.”
“Oh, no.” Ben pulled his thick hand from the muff and waggled a finger in front of the sheriff’s red face. “We must have privacy for our liaison.” Reaching out, he grabbed Bryant by the hand and pulled him along with him. The horrified look on the sheriff’s face finally made him break. “It’s me, Caleb. Ben Brooks,” he said in his own voice, keeping the tone quiet. “I’ll explain. Just get in the back room. Needless to say, I don’t want too many folks seeing me.”
“Ben?” Bryant’s eyes got even bigger, but he closed the door behind him and motioned toward a wooden chair. “Yeah, you’d better explain real quick. What the hell is going on?”
“Trouble,” Ben replied, pulling off his hat, long curls, and veil. He looked down at his feminine garb. “I’m sure as hell glad I’m not a woman.”
“That makes two of us.”
“You probably wouldn’t look much better in skirts.”
“No way you’d catch me dressing up like that, so it’s a moot point. But what’s this all about?” Bryant leaned forward, a sign he’d taken interest and was ready to hear Ben out.
“There’s been trouble out at the Henderson place. A lot of it.”
“Your old man? I heard he was free. Still haven’t figured out exactly why. Something about irregularities?”
“Yeah, irregularities,” Ben repeated. “That’s a fancy word for a pack of lies.” He worked up a wad of spittle and let it fly toward a nearby spittoon.
“Nice shot.”
Ben wiped his mouth with the muff. “Damn,” he muttered. “Now I’ll have to pay to have this furry little critter cleaned. Being a woman isn’t easy,” he added with a long sigh.
“Okay, so there’s trouble, and you’re running around in hats and skirts.” Bryant scratched his head. “And long curls.” He chuckled, then grew serious again. “Keep talking.”
Ben launched into the story then, leaving nothing out. His father’s unexpected arrival, Judge Morse’s inexplicable decision to sign a release, Della White’s claims of being Joe Love’s daughter, and the crazy cipher he hadn’t been able to figure out. He told him about the meeting, and the agreement that they would all work together to get the gold.
“I can’t put all the pieces together,” Ben admitted, “but that doesn’t matter. I want my father back behind bars where he belongs. If he finds that gold, it will only make matters worse. I want to put a stop to the whole thing, bring it to an end. Until that happens, I don’t think anybody’s safe.” He swallowed back a lump of emotion. “Emily’s there, you know. She’s getting herself right in the middle of this mess. I can’t take any chances.” He sucked in a deep breath. “I’m worried, too, that Judge Morse is in more danger than he realizes. My old man intends to kill him.”
“What do you want me to do?” Now Bryant pushed himself up from the chair. He paced through the room. “I think better on my feet,” he said, walking back and forth in front of Ben’s chair.
“You’re the sheriff,” Ben pointed out. “What are you supposed to do?”
“Nobody’s broken any laws, from what you’ve told me. I’ve got no right to go out and arrest your father. As for Della White…” He stopped pacing and stared down at Ben. “Being the child of an outlaw’s not a crime. You know that all too well, I’m sure.”
“Right. But if she finds that gold, she intends to keep it, at least, as much as she can. That’s a crime, isn’t it?” Ben lifted a hand and waved his own words away. “Never mind. I don’t care all that much what happens to Della. I mean, she can take care of herself. I’m here because of my father. I know what he’s capable of doing.”
Bryant began pacing again. “We both know, but there are laws, Ben. Unless somebody breaks one, I’ve got no right to take action. I can keep an eye on your father, but that’s about all I can do.”
“Actually, I’ve got a plan in my head. It might sound crazy, but—”
“Does it involve dressing up like women?” Bryant looked dubious.
“Only me, and only long enough to come here to town to talk to you. I can’t wait to get out of this get-up.”
“All right, spit it out. What’s this plan of yours?”
Ben scooted his chair over toward a table at the back. “Get me a pencil and a few sheets of foolscap. I’ll show you what I’ve got in mind.”
* * * *
Emily slipped inside the Henderson home, slammed the door behind her for good measure, then flounced into her room. Although she and Della had searched high and low for Ben, he was nowhere to be found. Earlier, the girl had accompanied Emily to the house, had looked at the back room, and although she, too, seemed puzzled, she quickly concluded that in her haste to pack and get away that morning, Lucille had left behind the awful mess.
Maybe she had, and maybe the curious noises had been nothing more than a family of mice scampering through the room.
“And maybe pigs really do fly!” In a state, Emily paced the floor. She had no idea what to do. “The map,” she muttered under her breath. “I have to get the map.”
It seemed the only practical course of action.
She grabbed her cloak, her hat, and her gloves, then hurried toward the spring house. When she reached it, she shook her head and turned to the burned-out barn instead. In order to dig up the map, she would need tools. The task would not be an easy one.
Armed with a shovel and a gardening spade, Emily returned to the spring house, let herself in, and set about her work at once. She surveyed the dirt floor, noting places where Ben’s father had already been digging. His plan, she deduced, had been to move around the inside perimeter of the building. Thankfully, he’d begun at the west wall and had not yet reached the true location of the hidden map.
“Dig under spring house. Two feet from east window.” She spoke the words aloud and nodded, pleased by her ability to easily memorize what she read. When she glanced again at the dirt floor, her optimism faded. “Two feet…in which direction?”
Standing around and gawking at the ground wasn’t going to bring her any closer to finding what she sought. With a determined breath she lifted the shovel and jammed it down. All she could do was trust that some unseen hand might guide her.
The shovel barely broke the surface. Frustrated, she shoved at the blade, putting a foot to it and pushing with all her weight. She gripped the wooden handle and twisted it, grunting, groaning, and willing the earth to yield beneath her frantic efforts.
Moment by moment, her hopes of finding the map diminished. As she kept up her determined labors, she brought to mind all of Hattie Mae’s encouraging adages. Persistence always paid off, according to Miss Richards.
“Great works are performed not by strength, but by perseverance.” Emily moved the shovel’s blade to a
different angle and pressed on. “It does not matter how slowly you go, so long as you don’t stop.” She couldn’t remember what famous historical personage had first uttered either of those sayings, but the words served their purpose. They bolstered her, enabled her to keep going.
She pushed, she prodded, she jabbed, she scraped.
“Energy and persistence conquer all things.” Stopping for a moment, Emily rubbed her forehead. Benjamin Franklin, the author of that particular bit of wisdom, must never have tried digging on a cold day.
For the next hour, she worked at loosening the dirt, now and then setting aside the shovel and digging with the spade. At times, she used her hands, scratching and clawing at the slight indentation she’d made.
Emily shook her head in disappointment, rose to her feet, and brushed off her cloak. She saw little point in continuing. She simply did not possess the strength to complete the arduous chore. Yet with grim determination, she continued to dig and sift.
Another hour passed. Finally, weak, exhausted, and hurting from head to toe, she gave up. So much for persistence. So much for the wise words of the world’s greatest minds. Some things were beyond the realm of possibility. She’d done her best and would have to console herself with that knowledge.
Not wanting anyone to know of her actions, she stamped over the area with her feet, doing her best to hide all evidence of her digging.
With a sigh, she brushed the dirt from her high-topped boots, picked up her digging tools, and opened the door of the spring house. She stepped out, nearly blinded by the bright light of the winter’s day. Emily collided with a tall, lanky figure.
“Ben!” She gasped and jumped back. Quickly she turned, trying to hide the tools from sight. Her heart thumped.
“What are you doing with that shovel?” He put a hand on her shoulders.
Reluctantly, she faced him, and in that moment, she made her choice. For now, she must trust him. She must be honest with him. “I told you I’d decoded the cipher. I couldn’t risk letting your father get his hands on that treasure map.”
His golden eyes gleamed. “You found it?”
“I tried. I wasn’t able to dig it up. It was too hard.”
“Come on,” he said, putting his arm around her and leading her back toward the spring house door. “I’ll help you. Show me where to dig.”
He worked the shovel, she worked with the spade. Between the two of them, they made swift progress.
“Wait, Ben, stop!” Emily cried out with joy when she caught sight of a something dark, yet shiny. “I think we’ve found it. The cipher said to look for green glass.” With painstaking care, she poked around with the spade, loosening a long-necked bottle. Excitement gave her strength. She threw down the spade, closed her fingers around the bottle, and yanked it from the ground. The effort sent her reeling backward. Even as she sprawled across the cold, hard dirt floor, she clutched the vessel close. This was her treasure, and she wasn’t about to let go of it.
“We did it.” Ben grinned at her. “Thank God.”
Emily frowned. “The map must be inside. We’ll have to break the bottle to get it out.”
“Set it down. I’ll smash it with the shovel.” He gripped the handle. His eyes narrowed. “Set it down,” he repeated, “then get out of the way.”
As he brought the shovel up, panic struck. The heavy tool could be used not only for digging or for breaking up an old glass bottle, but also as an implement of death. Ben was strong, quick, and powerful. One blow to the head, and she’d be dead.
“No!” She whirled around, and hurled the bottle against the stone wall with all her might. It shattered, and a folded paper fluttered out. Emily raced forward and grabbed the fragile page. “I know you’re working with them.” Her imagination took over. Maybe she was crazy, but she couldn’t take any chances. “I didn’t want to believe it, but now I see the truth with my own eyes.” She sucked in a breath, then slowly let it out again. “You’re all in it together, all three of you. She pressed her lips into a grim line and lowered her gaze. “Don’t make matters worse. Even if you get rid of me, Ben, you’ll still get caught. You’ll serve time for murder as well as for stealing the gold. You’ll spend the rest of your life in prison. Is that what you want?” she asked, looking up again.
Ben still had his hands on the wooden handle, gripping it tightly. “You’ve lost your mind.”
“I told you before, Ben, I heard the three of you making plans. Della ordered you to kill me. I heard every word.”
Ben groaned and lowered the shovel. “We’ve been over this, Emily.”
His words did nothing to calm her. “I’m doing this for you, Ben! I won’t let you stray on the wrong side of the law. You’re not like your father. You’re not …” Tears welled up.
“No, of course I’m not like my father.” He tilted his head back and gave it a shake. “Is that what you truly think of me? You’re willing to believe I’m a crook? That I’m capable of murder?”
“I—,” she stammered. “Well, no, but after what I’ve seen and what I’ve heard, I don’t know what else to believe. I’ve been trying to put the facts together, but I can’t come up with anything else.”
“Emily, I’ve probably done a lot of dumb things in my life, but I’m a law-abiding sort. I’m not like my father, I swear.”
“But then why are you doing this? Why are you helping him? And Della, too?”
Ben walked slowly across the spring house, the shovel still in his hands. He laid it against the far wall, then turned to face Emily. “I’m working with Sheriff Bryant.”
She squinted through the growing darkness. “What? How? I don’t understand.”
He moved his hat aside and raked his hand through his hair. “Listen, I shouldn’t be telling you any of this, but if I don’t, you won’t give me a minute’s peace, I know. The sheriff and I are setting a trap for my old man. He belongs behind bars, and we’re going to see that he’s put right back in prison. Maybe in the process we can also recover the stolen gold and return it to the rightful owner.” He took a step forward. “Will you help me? Please, Emily. Do the right thing. I need that map.”
Never had she felt quite so foolish. Of course Ben was nothing like his father. How many times had she stood up for him to assert that fact? Yet in a single moment of fear, she’d gone against everything her heart had ever told her about this fine young man. How could she so blithely stand before him and accuse him of being all she loathed?
Yet she couldn’t back down. Not with her heart thumping wildly, her emotions going in a dozen directions, and her senses on the verge of shutting down. She couldn’t think!
Emily lowered her hands, opened her eyes again, and lifted her face to look up at Ben. “Why should I give you the map, Ben? Why shouldn’t I give it to Sheriff Bryant instead?”
“Because I’m not letting you get involved in this. Emily, please,” he whispered as he leaned close. His breath brushed against her ear. “You mean everything to me, and I won’t allow you to risk your life. I want you to go back to Sunset, work things out with your mother, ask her forgiveness or whatever you need to do. I want you safe. Don’t you understand? If anything happened to you, I don’t know how I could find the strength to go on.”
“A trap,” she said, staring down at the folded paper in her hand. “When do you plan to spring this little trap?”
“As soon as I can. I’ve got a bit of work to do, and I need to do it now.”
“I’ll make a deal with you.” Emily drew herself up and pressed her mouth into a hard line.
“A deal?” Ben groaned, then nodded. “All right, I’m listening.”
“I’ll give you the map, but in return, you’ll let me stay here. Please, Ben. I won’t get involved. I’ll stay in my room.” She dangled the map in front of him, then clutched it to her bosom before he could grab it from her. “Let me know when you’ve made a decision.”
His eyebrows arched. “Maybe having you here would be a good thing. Tom’s not
coming back for a few days, by the way.”
“He’s not?”
Ben shook his head. “He sent word earlier. The strain has been too much for Lucille. She’s worried about losing the baby.”
“Oh, no.” Emily pressed a hand to her mouth. “She must be so afraid.”
“She’s got to stay in bed. She wants Tom there in Denver with her.”
“Of course she does.”
“So, we’ll have the place to ourselves.” He came closer. “I love you, Emily. Don’t you understand?”
Ben always knew the right words to say—when he wanted to say them. Emily hesitated, then handed him the map.
* * * *
When Ben walked into the Red Mule, his attention shot at once to a small table toward the back of the saloon where two people sat talking, their heads bent close together as though sharing secrets. He stood near the doorway, watching as one of the pair rose. Della stepped away from the table where the huge, lumbering giant of a man still sat. Upon seeing Ben, she came to him, a pleasant smile on her face.
He took her arm and led her aside. “Who is that man?” Ben jerked his head toward the table.
“His name’s Lennie,” she said in a casual voice. “He’s a friend of mine.”
Tension rippled through Ben’s body. “Is he expecting to be part of this deal, too? Is that why he’s here tonight?”
Della laughed, the sound soft, lilting, and utterly disarming. “Lennie’s a half-wit,” she said, bending close. “He doesn’t know enough about what’s going on to have any expectations.”
“What’s he doing here?”
“Watching out for me.” She glanced toward the table and gave the big man a slight nod before walking to the bar with Ben. “I suppose you’d call him my protector. I met him several years ago. He took a shine to me.” She shrugged. “He’s big, he’s strong, and sometimes he’s actually very helpful. I think of him sort of like a faithful dog following at my heels.” Her gray eyes narrowed. “Why? Has he done something? Has he hurt someone?”
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