Siren's Song

by D. L. Snow

  “Miss Sullivan,” she said in a raspy voice. “Come on back to the Saloon. Kitty needs our help.”

  With a deep sigh I looked up. The smoke still billowed but somehow, miraculously, the leaping flames seemed to have been quenched. Perhaps the men had successfully contained the fire and now it had run out of fuel.

  With heavy steps I followed Camille back to the hotel, expecting to get yelled at by Kitty but having a tired retort ready on my lips. I was thoroughly surprised when she simply nodded at me in passing. The truth was, Kitty Sullivan was a model of calm efficiency, competently directing what remained of her staff to ready the hotel for any who may have lost their homes.

  I have no idea what time it was when I finally collapsed into bed but I slept fitfully, the sound of dying horses making me toss and turn while my dream-self searched through charred rubble for an elusive Morgan Hawes. When I woke, I hurried to my window that overlooked Main Street to check on the status of the fire. The town was covered in a smoke-like fog, but the buildings between the hotel and the north end of Main - at least as far as I could see - were all still standing.

  It turned out that between the volunteer fire brigade and all of the miners and townsfolk, they managed to contain the fire before it destroyed Main Street. However many of the miner’s cabins were gone as was the mill, one of the stables and a few other notable homes, including Doctor Lovatt’s house and, of course, Morgan Hawes’ house.

  All in all minor damage, yet it left me with a sort of sick feeling in my gut.

  I caught sight of Morgan Hawes at the front desk later that morning as I returned from breakfast. His normally pristine white shirt was grimy and he wore it with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair was singed and covered in soot, as was his face. He looked exhausted.

  I stood in the shadows by the stairs and watched him, remembering the feel of his arms around me, the taste of his lips.

  “I’m terribly sorry for your loss,” Kitty said, looking stately despite the fact that I doubt she’d gotten any sleep last night. While Morgan signed the register she added, “I hope we can make you as comfortable here as possible.” She snapped her fingers. “Cap’n, bring up Mr. Hawes things.”

  “I have no things,” Morgan said. He tapped a blackened tin box on the counter. “This is all that’s left.” He took the key to his room, picked up the box and mounted the stairs, barely glancing at me as he passed.

  My reaction was somewhat stronger as he moved by me. My heart did a flip inside my chest. My abdomen clenched and my throat got thick like it does before I’m going to cry. I also had to fight an insane urge to chase after him. The man had just lost everything he owned. He had no interest in me, he’d told me that quite plainly. Yes, he had been tender last night, but that was because of the fire, I was sure of it.

  It didn’t matter.

  I followed him up the stairs, moving too fast all of a sudden so that I was panting once I reached his door. Kitty had put him in the room next to mine.

  “Mr. Hawes?”

  He fit the key into the lock and turned the knob. I thought he might just ignore me and shut me out but he quietly turned and faced me.

  “I’m sorry about your house.”

  “It’s just a house.”

  I swallowed, my throat gone suddenly dry as he stood in the hall waiting for me to say something. I wanted to mention the kiss, wanted to apologize for it, even though I wasn’t sorry. Instead I said, “When you build your house again, make sure to build it up on a hill, away from Main Street.”

  He frowned and opened the door to his room. He stepped inside. “I’ll take your suggestion under consideration.”

  “It’s important,” I insisted. “The town’s going to--”

  He narrowed his eyes. “The town’s going to what?”

  “Flood,” I said quietly and then looked away.

  “How do you know that?” he asked just as quietly.

  I met his gaze. “Do you really want to know?”

  “No.” He moved to shut the door.

  “Can I get you anything? Anything at all?” I asked in an attempt to keep him talking.

  I could tell he was about to shake his head, but then he studied me with an inscrutable gaze that made my pulse zing. “A tub of hot water in the wash house would be fine.” Then he shut the door firmly in my face.

  Chapter 10

  “Take these clothes out to Mr. Hawes,” Kitty said, dropping a freshly pressed suit and shirt in my lap.

  “Good God, Kitty, I’m not taking him clothes now. The man’s in the washhouse, probably naked.”

  “Precisely,” Kitty smirked. “I’ve seen the way he watches you, now’s not the time to play it coy, believe you me.”

  “No way.” I pushed the clothes back at her. “Let Cap’n take them or one of the other men.”

  “Now why would I do that? Cap’n ain’t looking for a patron.” Kitty guffawed at her joke, pulled me up by the ear and shoved me towards the back door.

  With slow unsteady steps, I carried the bundle outside to the washhouse which was basically a shed attached to the kitchen. Standing outside the closed door for a full five minutes, I tried to work up the nerve to knock. I should have outright refused Kitty. Morgan Hawes was no fool, he would know exactly what I was up to, what this was about. He’d already warned me he didn’t like to play games. After last night, my being there would not further my cause. It would only hurt it.

  On the other hand, I needed to get close to him. Even though his gaze rarely left me, the few times I’d tried to approach him in the saloon, he’d snubbed me or simply gotten up and walked away. I needed to take advantage of every chance I got. Plus there was that kiss last night. I may have initiated it but he didn’t do much to stop me.

  I was so caught up in my thoughts it took me a second to realize that the washhouse door swung open and that Morgan Hawes stood there surrounded by steam with only a towel wrapped around his waist.

  Jesus! The clothes he normally wore did not do him justice. Standing before me was no gangly boy from a basketball photo. Here stood a man with broad shoulders, narrow waist, and in between, a landscape of sinewy muscle marred by a jagged scar above his heart.

  Instead of blushing or looking uncomfortable, Morgan somehow managed to look faintly amused at whatever expression I was wearing. He slanted his head toward me. “Miss Sullivan.”

  “Mr. Hawes.” I lifted my chin and focused all of my energy into channeling my Joss Jones aloofness.

  “Are those for me?” He pointed to the pile of clothes at my feet. I must have dropped them without even realizing it.

  “Y-yes.” I crouched down and gathered them up in my arms, the act of bending over in a corset completely taking my breath away. “I’m sorry if they’re dirty. I–”

  “They’re better than anything else I have,” he said softly as he stepped closer and took the clothes from my hands. Did he purposefully brush my fingertips with his? Whether he did it on purpose or not, my reaction was electric. My pulse zinged and my cheeks flamed from the innocent contact.

  “Thank you, Miss. Sullivan.”

  I caught the aroma of fresh soap on his still damp skin. “You’re welcome,” I somehow managed to say.

  Neither of us moved.

  Cocking his head to one side, he said, “Were you also instructed to help me dress?”

  “I…no,” I stuttered in a very un-Joss like way.

  “Though the thought is enticing, I believe I can manage on my own.”

  He closed the door, leaving me standing outside the washhouse more confused than ever. What had just happened? Had he been flirting with me?

  “Jo-Jo?”

  “Hmm?” Startled out of my reverie, I turned around. Camille stood there, rubbing her red hands and looking nervous with Cap’n standing behind her, carrying her trunk. “Are you going somewhere?”

  “Mrs. Sullivan rented out my room to some miners. The hotel is overbooked. I’m to stay with you.”

&nbs
p; “Oh?”

  “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Of course not. Bring her stuff up, Cap’n.”

  Once Camille’s things were deposited in my room on the second floor and Cap’n closed the door softly behind him, Camille looked around the room in wonder. She fingered the bedspread of the double brass bed and ran her hand across the fine mahogany of the bureau. She inspected the washstand and stared at her reflection in the mirror for a moment. “I’ve never stayed in such a grand room before,” she whispered.

  For a moment I forgot my own troubles and watched Camille’s reflection in the mirror, feeling a strange tightening in my chest. “What brought you to Bandit Creek, Camille?”

  “Hmm?” She turned around as if she hadn’t really heard me, as if her thoughts were miles away.

  “Why did you come to Bandit Creek?”

  She sat beside me on the bed and played with the rough edge of her sleeve. “My sister’s house wasn’t big enough anymore.”

  “She sent you here?”

  “She bought the ticket, yes.”

  “Do you ever see her? Write to her?”

  Camille shook her head and my heart broke when I saw a tear meander down her cheek.

  “How old are you, Camille?”

  “Fifteen.”

  Fifteen! What had happened that a fifteen year old was sent away to fend for herself? “Why did your sister send you away?”

  A dark cloud passed over Camille’s features. She stood abruptly and brushed at her skirt. “Look at me, playing at being a fine lady like you. Mercy! I’ve got work to do – more than ever – and I’ll pay for it if I don’t get started.”

  “Camille, wait.”

  She didn’t wait. She flew out the door as if the very devil were hot on her heels, slamming the door behind her. What had happened in Camille’s life for her to react so strongly to my questions? Before I could follow, a firm rap sounded on the door. For some strange reason my stomach lurched as if there was only one person who could be knocking on my door with such authority.

  With a hand to my rapidly beating heart, I went to the door and opened it. Kitty stood on the other side.

  “You have a gentleman caller,” she announced as she stepped out of the way to make room for the man standing behind her.

  My fluttering heart took a nose dive. It was not Morgan Hawes who stood behind Kitty.

  It was James Ellis.

  Mr. Ellis removed his black hat and bowed. “Miss Sullivan, what a pleasure to see you this morning.”

  My eyes darted back and forth between his snake-like smile and Kitty’s hopeful expression.

  “Mr. Ellis has offered to take you on a tour of his mine, isn’t that exciting?”

  “And afterwards, a stop at the ice cream parlor, if it pleases the lady.” He turned his black eyes on me. “You do like ice cream, don’t you?”

  I did, but I doubted that I’d have the stomach for it, not after spending a day in this horrid man’s company on such little sleep.

  “Mr. Ellis, if you would be so kind as to wait for us below stairs. I will help ready my niece for today’s outing.” How Kitty’s falsely formal speech grated on me right then.

  James Ellis bowed and left us alone.

  Once he was out of earshot, I hissed, “I’m not going anywhere with him.”

  Kitty pushed past me, pulling the door shut behind her. “For such an attractive young woman, you sure are a dolt when it comes to men.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Com-pe-tition,” she said, emphasizing each syllable. “Mr. Hawes is your man, but the gent is slow to make a move. Now’s the time to be seen around town with his most hated rival.” Kitty’s eyes twinkled with an irreverent light.

  “Rival?”

  “Didn’t you know? Mr. Hawes owns the claim to one of the purest lodes on Turtle Mountain. The Ellis family has tried to buy it from him for over a decade, but he’s not selling. There’s some bad blood that’s passed between them boys, bad blood.”

  She tut-tutted around me, fixing my hair, tying a new bonnet to my head and straightening my skirt. “Now you go and enjoy yourself as much as you can and remember, you’re doing this for the greater good. Trust ol’ Kitty. When it comes to men, she knows what she’s talking about.”

  Kitty’s plan seemed devious and underhanded but at the same time if there was a connection between James Ellis and Morgan Hawes, maybe there was a connection for me too.

  With reluctance, I joined the man in the dining room downstairs and true to his word, he took me to the Ellis Mine on the banks of Crow Mountain. From that vantage point I could see the destruction wrought by the fire the night before. Mr. Ellis didn’t seem to pay any attention; he was too busy boasting about how many men worked for him, how many tons of ore they lugged out of the mountain and how many miles of tunnels they had dug. I suppose he was attempting to impress me but the only thing I could see were the poor fellows going in and out of the damp darkness, covered in grime, their noses red and sniffling from the freezing temperatures deep inside the mountain and now they probably had no house left to go home to.

  “How deep did you say these tunnels go?”

  “They go deep into the belly of the beast.” James grinned and his black eyes flashed. “The Indians have a story about the mountain. Have you heard it?”

  “No.”

  “They talk of a creature that lives deep inside. The creature belches out all the silver, lead and gold – the veins that we dig up. But if we get too close, the creature gets ornery and we have to appease it.”

  “How do you do that?” I asked.

  James took my gloved hand and leaned so close I could smell the onions on his breath. He paid absolutely no attention to the way I stiffened at his touch. “Virgin sacrifice,” he whispered into the lace of my bonnet.

  I flinched from his nearness.

  “Oh, but I’ve offended your delicate sensibilities.” His smile grew even more lecherous. “You are a rare bird, indeed.” He licked his lips and I thought I was going to be sick. I knew exactly what kind of man James Ellis was. He was the kind who took great pleasure in taking something pure and plundering it, ruining it beyond recognition. Sort of like what he’d done with this mountain.

  “Mr. Ellis,” I said through clenched teeth. “You promised me an ice cream. I hope you won’t go back on your word.”

  The afternoon dragged on much too long but finally he walked me back to the hotel after our dish of ice cream at Eaton’s. With my arm tucked beneath his, his hand circled my wrist like a handcuff. As we passed the dining room of the Powder Horn, I felt someone’s gaze on me. Morgan Hawes sat at a table in the far corner, a coffee cup and newspaper on the table before him. The men nodded to one another, but it wasn’t a friendly nod.

  “Do you know Mr. Hawes?” I asked as James escorted me up the stairs.

  “Of course. Who doesn’t? The man has escaped death twice now.”

  “What do you mean, escaped death twice?”

  “His house burned down.”

  “Yes, I know. And the other time?”

  “He was robbed, though it wasn’t the first time bandits have struck in Bandit Creek.” He chuckled as if he’d made some great joke. “He was shot. Fatally, it was thought. But, the man miraculously recovered.” Something in the flash of James Ellis’s eyes told me he wished Morgan had stayed dead. “Not only did the man recover, but his fortunes grew.”

  “When was that? The shooting I mean.”

  “A number of years ago.” He tapped his walking cane against the floor. “Let’s see, 1889, if I’m not mistaken.

  Ten years ago. Exactly the time Kyle Copeland disappeared from the present…or the future, depending on how you looked at it. Did that mean anything? Was there a connection?

  Standing outside my door, Mr. Ellis took my hand and lifted it to his cold lips. “Mr. Hawes fortunes are no concern of ours.” He sniffed my hand and then looked up at me. “As ever, Miss Sullivan, your com
pany has been a delight.” Even though I tried to pull my hand free, he kept hold of it and drew closer. “I hope that we will have many more opportunities…” his eyes dropped down to the front of my blouse, “…to get to know one another.”

  “Ellis, a word if you please.”

  Morgan Hawes stood at the top of the stairs, his face grim.

  “If you wish to make a business appointment, Hawes, do so with my secretary. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

  “I’m afraid it really can’t wait…Sir.”

  James Ellis’s nostrils flared as he dropped my hand and turned to face Morgan. “Wait for me downstairs, then. I wish to bid Miss Sullivan adieu and then I have a small matter of business to discuss with the girl’s aunt.”

  Air lodged in my throat as the meaning of Ellis’s words wormed their way into my brain. A business arrangement with Kitty? Over what? Me? Oh hell, no!

  “Until we meet again, Miss Sullivan.” Ellis bent close as I backed into my closed door. Over his shoulder I caught the cold, hard glare of Morgan Hawes who watched for only a moment before turning on his heel.

  *****

  “What exactly did you and James Ellis discuss?” I asked Kitty later in the kitchen. Others whisked in and out as the hotel was busier than ever with all of the new ‘guests’ who were now homeless after the fire.

  “Can’t you see I have no time for this discussion?” Kitty replied, her jowls waving here and there as she issued orders to her staff. “Cap’n,” she called as the big man came in through the back lugging a crate of liquor bottles, “Add some water and colorant to the whiskey. I don’t want to run out on a Saturday night.”

  “Yes Ma’am.”

  “I have a right to know,” I continued. “Seeing as I was the topic of discussion.”

  Kitty spun towards me, “Rights? You’re a woman, Dearest, you have no rights. Now leave Mr. Ellis to me, you hear?” She marched out of the kitchen toward the saloon giving orders as she went and I stood watching her go. The fact that she hadn’t met my eyes once during our exchange did not bode well.