She’d heard tales of hikers through the years, hiding out in the woods, stashing drugs and stolen goods where no one could find them. Maybe that’s what they were doing. With hundreds of thousands of acres, she figured the USFS and adjoining properties were as good a hiding place as any. A branch cracked.
Delaney sucked in her breath, ducking instinctively. She gulped, waiting. When no more sounds came, she warily raised her head. Leaves fluttered high above. An animal?
Black bears were a growing population in this area. Her chest tightened. Momma bears were not known for their rosy disposition. Running into one was not on her list of things to do. Delaney swallowed back her fear and suddenly worried about Sadie. Tied to the post, she would be easy prey for any animal with a knack for attack. Should she go back for her?
Delaney glanced around. She wasn’t accomplishing anything here. Rising to her feet, she considered her options. It was going to be dark soon. Maybe she should come back tomorrow and resume her search. Setting a hand to the rock beside her, she leaned against it. The stone was cold, damp, mottled with white fungus.
Yes, it might be better to return in the morning. She’d feign business and head out first thing. Felicity would be all right for a few hours without her. Delaney pulled her hand away and noticed a stick poking straight up from the stone behind it. What the—?
That was an odd position for a branch. Inspecting it more closely, she realized the stick was propped up artificially. Excitement surged through her. Could this be a clue?
She moved to the other side of the rock. A large dead branch was lying over top of it. She removed it and looked closer. In the trickle of sunlight, she caught the sparkle of a dusty stone surface. She wiped at it and her breath caught. She rubbed harder and stepped back, stunned. Oh my...
Adrenaline liquefied her limbs. She’d heard of this before, but never dreamed it was anything but a tall tale—or a thing of the past. With a shaky hand, Delaney reached out and traced the lines etched in the gray stone. In the faint light, she could see layers of rock separated by a distinct discoloration. Her breathing grew shallow. She might be mistaken—most probably was mistaken—but she would swear she was looking at gold.
In the rough. On Ladd property. Her mind staggered at the implication. Could it be?
Heart beats thumped behind her breast. The narrow threads of yellow were jagged, uneven, and ran the entire width of the stone. Several areas looked as though they’d been chipped away, revealing the vein as it penetrated deep into the boulder. Delaney ran a shaky hand across the section, the surface sharp and irregular beneath her fingertips. Disbelief poured into her skull. Those men had discovered gold. Gold.
Immediately she started calculating the significance in dollars and cents. The price of gold was at a record high. Depending on how much there was in this rock, it could mean Ladd Springs was worth millions. Ladd Springs. Millions.
The thought made her dizzy. But how to get it out? What to do with it? Who to tell? Delaney bolted upright. Those men knew there was gold on her property. Panic sliced her in half. Clem knew there was gold on her property. His visits with Ernie, his eagerness to please, mow the lawn, fix the plumbing...
It was no wonder he was working so hard to ingratiate himself with Ernie! He wanted the rights to the gold.
She had to get out of here, had to think. She had to figure out her next step. Ladd Springs had gold. It had to be real. Those men believed it was real, risking the chance of getting caught in order to loot the land. Clem was looting her land.
Ernie had to be told. But just as quickly as the thought occurred, futility settled in. He would not believe her. He would call her a liar, and it might even send him further onto Clem’s side. He might sign the property over to Clem just to spite her.
Delaney needed proof. She patted her pockets, but they were empty. She hadn’t brought her phone. Damn the luck. Where was it? Home? Truck? Delaney took one more look at the vein etched in the rock before her, the waning light dulling its luster, and a ravenous desire slinked in. There was gold in Ladd Springs.
On the ride back to the property, Delaney worked to organize her thoughts. She had to formulate a plan. She had to be sensible, rational. Finding gold on the property incurred an entirely new set of concerns. Once she and Felicity acquired ownership, she’d have to arrange for access to the location. They’d need equipment to get it out. Machinery. Men. But deep in the woods, it wouldn’t be easy.
Sadie trotted over the river bridge, her hooves making a hollow echo over the rush of white-capped water beneath them. A quarter mile down was Clem’s trailer. It sat off the shoulder, just past the first curve. Delaney imagined him in it, counting the days until he had stolen all the gold for himself. Well, that low life was in for the surprise of his life. When she revealed her find and his connection to the men in question, Ernie would have a fit! He’d renounce him on the spot.
But she couldn’t let Clem know she was on to him. She’d heard the stories about how far miners were willing to go to stake out their claims. It seemed nothing was off limits, up to and including murder. The fine hair on the back of her neck stood, as she recalled Clem’s sordid actions from the other day. He had surprised her with the move to grope her, but now it served as fair warning. Put nothing past the man. Nothing. She must conceal her knowledge of the gold until she was able to announce it with the confidence that he couldn’t steal any more. Was this how lottery winners felt?
Struck by the comparison, Delaney assumed they probably did. Tell no one until you see an attorney and have confidentially arranged to have the winnings transferred to your bank account. Sadie tripped as she side-stepped the gravel in favor of the grass. She shook her mane with a rumbled of snort. Delaney held the reins forward, giving Sadie the room she needed as they neared the dip in the drive. Passing by Ernie’s cabin on her way to the stables, she saw Ashley’s car parked out front. Delaney suppressed a quick rise of optimism. The cavalry had arrived, and right on time. With a click from her mouth, she hurried Sadie forward. “Get on it, girl. We’ve got plans to make!”
Inside his cabin, Ernie scowled at Ashley through the dusty haze of light, the room lit by a tiny Tiffany lamp perched on the end table by his chair. The scent of stale tobacco hung in the air. Spiral braided floor rugs were scattered out across wood plank floors, their fabric stained. Dirt and sweat permeated the room. It was a pathetic way to live. Ashley frowned. If Susannah were alive, this dump would be spotless.
“What do you want?” Ernie muttered, not moving his eyes from the television.
Holed up in his recliner, she regarded him with a twinge of pity. “Quit your grumbling, old man. I’ve come to talk.”
“I don’t wanna talk to you.”
She planted a fist on her hip, pointing the other at him like the barrel of a gun. “I’m here to speak my peace and then I’ll leave you to yours.” Though she doubted he had any peace to speak of. Since Susannah died, Ernie had hardened his crusty shell until it was downright impenetrable. He wouldn’t let anyone in, wouldn’t listen to any kind words or offers of support. He wanted only to stew in his grief.
Which gave her pause. It was a grief Ashley understood. When Susannah died, it had felt like her other half died. Susannah was more than a friend to her. She was sister, soul mate, the half to her whole. Without Booker, she would have not survived Susannah’s death. Her heart went out to Ernie. She had survived. He hadn’t. And now he was staring down the end of his own tunnel. Hopefully the man would finally find peace.
“I’m here to talk about you and Felicity,” she said.
“No you ain’t. I read the paper.” He jabbed the mouthpiece of his pipe toward her and accused, “I know you’re in cahoots with Delaney.”
“I’m not in any cahoots with anybody. I’m here to talk some sense into you.” Without bothering to ask for permission, she lowered her tired old body onto the sofa, the cushion sinking flat beneath her. If you could call it a cushion. Felt more like plywood than pillo
w. Wouldn’t surprise her if it was a throwaway he salvaged from the junk pile out back. Ernie hadn’t bought a spec of anything to outfit this place. Everything in it was a remnant from those who roamed these rooms before him. She looked around the cabin. The walls were dank and dirty, the light fixtures coated with a thick layer of dust. Even the antique Queen Anne dining set was suffering under his neglect, its elegant curves chipped and scratched. Everything was old, battered, tattered and stunk to high heaven.
Ernie jammed the pipe back into his mouth and glared at her, his eyes glassy marbles magnified beneath the lens of his black-rimmed glasses.
Pitiful. The man was pitiful. But he was Susannah’s brother and Ashley swore to look after him, whether he wanted her to or not. Those baskets of pole beans and okra didn’t drop out of the sky. No. She’d been delivering them to Ernie for years, to see that he ate a decent meal, kept his strength about him.
“I know about your illness,” she stated quietly.
He swiped his glance away from hers. “Dad-burned whole town knows.”
“I know it’s gone to your pancreas.”
Ernie whirled, animosity splintering his gaze. “How do you know about that?”
“I have my ways.” Ashley buried her hands in her lap and asked, “Why aren’t you seeing anyone about it?”
“Why should I?” He glanced away. “Ain’t nothin’ nobody can do.”
“Doctors can help you, Ernie. Booker’s sister-in-law went through a similar situation. The doctors said she only had months to live, but she proved them wrong.”
“I ain’t never been so lucky.”
It was the first hint of sorrow she detected in the man and her heart pinched. Staring at him, mired in his misery, she shook her head. “Is this how you want to go out?” she asked. “Do you really want to forsake your kin for a silly vendetta?”
Ernie hooked into her with a sharp, “Delaney’s a money-grubbing—”
Ashley silenced him with a raised hand. “I’m tired of hearing your excuses. Gerald Foster isn’t this issue and neither is his son.”
“He’s a crook!” Ernie exclaimed, his voice nothing but a ragged croak.
“He’s no more crook than you are astronaut.” And she wasn’t going to stand another word of his trash. Ernie refused any and all reason when it came to Gerald Foster. The minute Delaney started dating his son, Ernie nearly had a stroke—as though she had betrayed him somehow. Ashley pushed her shoulders back, heaving her generous bosom forward as she declared, “Susannah told you there was nothing between them and I can vouch for her. There was nothing between them. She only had eyes for Harry.”
Ernie hated Gerald because he thought he’d sullied his sister’s honor by taking Susannah before she was married. Ernie believed it to be true, because he had watched the two spend hours upon hours together, hiking the trails, taking picnics by the river. But Susannah and Gerald were never more than friends. God knows Ashley had tried to convince Susannah otherwise. Gerald was a good man, a loving man. Unlike Harry Wilkins, he would have devoted his time and attention to her. But Susannah could be stubborn as a goat with a tin can, and when she wanted who she wanted, she was going to have him, whether her best friend and brother approved or not. Susannah and Harry were married on her eighteenth birthday. Gerald went on to marry a pretty society girl from Chattanooga, and the two had four sons, all of them wild and wooly and socially unacceptable, much to their mother’s distress.
But Ernie held the grudge to this day. Because Delaney had married a Foster, she was to be forsaken. Muttering incoherently, he chewed on the end of his pipe.
“Delaney hasn’t done a thing to you, and it’s not right for you to hold your silly feud against her.”
“Money. That’s what she’s after.”
“She doesn’t want your money,” Ashley said heatedly, answering him with a dismissive shake of her head. “This is about doing what’s right. You and I both know what happened the night of Susannah’s death, there’s no denying it. Now I don’t know about you, but I believe in the sparkle and glitter of heaven and I have every intention of trotting through those pearly gates in my best boots and rhinestones. Whether you believe the way I do, or simply think you’re going to rest in peace once you cross the threshold, either way, you’re slapping a lock on those beautiful gates if you go back on your promise to Susannah.”
Ernie grimaced.
“Think of Felicity,” she implored him. “That girl adores you, Ernie. She’s willing to look past your crusty exterior and see the beauty in you. Plays like an angel for you, too.”
Anger sparked life into his demeanor. “You leave her out of this.”
“I won’t. She wants to play in the symphony, but she can’t if she can’t make it through college.” Ashley could see that talk of Felicity softened him, as she knew it would. “She spends night after night playing for you and this is how you pay her back?”
“It’s her mother that’s the problem,” he replied gruffly. “If she made better decisions, she’d be able to pay for Felicity’s schoolin’ and not put her through hard times.”
“Delaney is a fine mother—don’t you go disparaging her,” Ashley said, pointing a bejeweled finger at him, the ten carat faux diamond sparkling even in this poor excuse for light. “She’s even agreed to put the title in Felicity’s name to prove it to you.”
He glanced away. “Cuz she’s manipulatin’ the poor child.”
“The only one around here doing any manipulatin’,” she mimicked, “is you. And I’m high tired of it. You’re going to do what’s right and I’m going to see to it.” She thrust a hard eye at him and said, “We both made promises to Susannah that night, and I intend to see mine through.”
Ashley stood. He acknowledged her movement and she returned a withering gaze. She was finished here. “I have a mind to talk to that sweet child and tell her not to step another foot in this cabin to play her flute for you, the way you’re treating her.”
“What?” he cried, and shot forward in his chair.
“You heard me.” Ashley knew what the evenings meant to him. They were his only reprieve, his only escape from his dreary existence. They allowed him to remember brighter days, days spent with Susannah, when she used to sing to him. By the creek, alone on horseback, when they were young, she would sing him calm like a lullaby-soothed baby. Susannah knew how to keep her brother on the straight and narrow. She kept him in school and kept him from drinking. Like a puppy dog-in-training, Susannah gave Ernie heaps of love, but followed through with a stern command when he strayed off course.
“You can’t do that,” Ernie rebuked, but his voice cracked.
“I can and I will. You sign on the dotted line or that sweet thing will get an ear-full from me.”
Ernie looked like an angry possum, an animal that knew it had been cornered and had only one card left to play. “You’re a mean-spirited woman, Ashley Fulmer. You’re a selfish, no-good backstabber.”
“I’m doing what needs to be done.”
“You never did like me,” he muttered.
“My feelings for you are irrelevant at the moment. Susannah loved you with all her heart.” Ashley’s heart squeezed as memory cut deep. “She looked up to you, treated you like you were her savior. The least you could do is act like it.”
Tears misted his eyes and he brought a hand to forehead, rubbing the papery, blotchy skin. If she let herself, Ashley could feel sorry for him. But the way he was treating Susannah’s daughter and granddaughter prohibited any such compassion. She took a step toward the door, careful not to let her skirt catch on the sofa table. “You let me know when you’ve come to your senses,” she ordered matter-of-fact, indicating the document she’d signed for Delaney. “Tonight’s only the beginning of your problems, you keep up this nonsense.”
Chapter Ten
Sitting on the edge of her bed, Delaney slipped the small camera into her backpack and zipped it closed, her fingers more jittery than she cared to think about. Pul
se running on high speed, she chalked it up to adrenaline rush. She wasn’t kidding herself. Gathering photographic evidence could prove risky. But without it her word against Clem’s would be tossed aside like a cigarette butt. She needed to stake out a claim of her own—a witness claim.
Rising, she flicked off the lights and headed out. Two water bottles, a granola bar and flashlight—she was prepared to wait the men out, if need be. She had no reason to believe they wouldn’t. Delaney’s instincts hummed. If she knew Clem, he’d loot that gold as fast as he could.
And she had all day to get her proof. Felicity had stayed over at her girlfriend’s last night and planned to spend the day with them, which meant Delaney didn’t have to be home until supper time. Slinging the canvas pack over her shoulder, she walked toward her bedroom door and caught a glimpse of her reflection. She stopped, and zeroed in. She looked tense, edgy. The lines around her mouth were set hard, her eyes filled with trepidation. She looked worried. A half laugh escaped her lips and her heart thumped. She looked scared, is what she looked.
Kicking her legs into motion, Delaney brushed the thought aside. There was no room for fear. No reason to fear. She knew these woods like the back of her hand, could travel trails and cliffs like a deer, warding off trouble with the barrel of her gun. When she wanted to be, Delaney could be as stealth and lethal as a rattler or as fierce as a mama bear. There was nothing to fear. Besides, she didn’t intend for them to see her. This mission was about her seeing them—photographing the men as proof for Ernie. And there was no better proof than a full-color image.
Locking the door behind her, she went in pursuit of her mare.
Sitting in the lobby of the town’s premier hotel, the lunch crowd thinning around him, Nick prepared to call his partner. Avoiding it any longer would only strain their relationship and that was a strain he didn’t need. Malcolm Ward was an integral part of his empire. Nick would need him to see this project through. An elegantly dressed brunette caught his eye as she walked by, her smile a shade too intimate for strangers. Pushing back against the cushion, he returned the gesture.
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