by Kaki Warner
She couldn’t say anything. Her tongue wouldn’t work.
“I would advance you travel expenses,” he added before she could form a response. “And those of your husband, of course, as I assume he will be accompanying you.”
“I…ah…”
“Unless you think he might object? Shall I contact him directly? I realize this is highly unusual, but if he—”
“There is no he,” Maddie blurted out, astounded by her own audacity and the lie she was about to tell. But how could she not do it? A new start. A new life. A whole new country, even. “That is to say, I’m”—forgive me, Angus—“a widow.”
“A widow?” The idea seemed to delight him. “Well, then, there’s nothing to hold you back, is there?”
“Not a thing.” And for all intents and purposes, she truly was a widow. Angus had left her in spirit almost two years ago. This physical parting was simply the final step in accepting the death of her marriage so she could begin a new life without him.
“Excellent. I’ll book passage for…shall we say, two weeks? That should give you time to gather what equipment and supplies you’ll need. Have the bills sent to my office.” He smiled, all but rubbing his hands together in glee. “Any questions?”
Dozens of them. Thousands. “No.”
“Excellent! Then we’re agreed.” Hopping up, he held out his hand.
Maddie rose on shaky legs and placed her fingers in his, hoping he didn’t feel the tremors in her hand. “Agreed.”
And as simply as that, it was done.
Two weeks to pack, put the house up for sale, restock her supplies, and send a note to Northbridge to inform them of her plans in case Angus ever inquired about her absence.
America. Just the thought of it made her giddy.
One
HEARTBREAK CREEK, COLORADO TERRITORY
SEPTEMBER 1870
The Fifth Viscount of Ashby—or Ash, as his new London friends called him—rode slowly down the muddy street, Tricks padding wearily at his side, his rough coat dripping rain and mud.
A sad place, Heartbreak Creek. Judging by the faded store shingles hanging over the warped boardwalk, and the hulking structure perched on the bluffs above the canyon that sheltered the town, it had once been a prosperous mining community. But now the machinery sat silent, the mine dark, and few people walked past the unpainted wooden buildings with their sagging roofs and boarded storefronts. It looked no different from a dozen other wee villages he’d ridden through in the last months.
He had seen worse in Ireland—which would probably never recover from the devastation of the potato famine—and in Scotland, where the Clearances had left a trail of empty huts and overflowing graveyards across his beloved Highlands. But it was always disturbing to see a town die.
Yet, despite the obvious decline, there were still signs of life in Heartbreak Creek. Two wagons stood in front of the Mercantile, Feed, and Mining Supplies store, and the hotel looked freshly painted and bore a fine new sign over the front doors. But without steady commerce from mining, timber, or the railroads, the town would soon die.
So why had she come to such a bleak place? To hide from him? He had once been a forward rider with the Rifles of the Light Division, and a man never forgot training like that. Dinna she realize that no matter where she went or how far she ran, he could still find her? She had led him a merry chase, so she had. The lass was as elusive as peat smoke, but he sensed that finally after twenty months of searching, he was getting close.
Reining in at the rail in front of the hotel, he stiffly dismounted, twisting as little as possible as he swung down. For the last hour, pain had been gnawing at his left side like the starving hounds of hell, and he knew he would pay a high price for riding so long in the rain. Cold dampness always made his slow-healing wound ache—the crossing had been a bluidy nightmare, made worse by the constant pitch and roll of the ship. But the dizziness had eased once he’d stepped onto solid ground in Boston Harbor, and he hadna suffered a single headache in well over a month.
“Stay,” he ordered Tricks as he looped Lurch’s reins over the rail.
The dog grinned up at him, tongue lolling, his bushy brows spiky with rain and clumps of mud.
“I mean it. You’re bluidy filthy, so you are. And since you willna allow a bath, you’ll stay out here. That’s an order.”
Ignoring the animal’s pitiful whines, Ash stepped through the double front doors and was pleased to see that Heartbreak Creek Hotel was as dapper inside as it was out. Dark paneling gleamed. Lush green plants rose out of tall clay urns. There were no patches or stains on the upholstered chairs gathered around a tufted hassock, and no dusty cobwebs dangling from the sparkling chandelier. Even the bald spot atop the head of the old man at the front desk looked polished, and the brass clasps on the braces worn by the freckled bellboy posted inside the doors would have satisfied the most demanding sergeant.
A well-run establishment. Ash nodded in approval.
“Hidy,” the clerk said as Ash crossed to the front desk. “Help you?”
“Aye. I need a room. One with a big bed.”
The old man’s grin showed a lack of teeth, and those that remained were marred by rusty stains. “Planning a party, are you?”
Ash looked at him.
The grin faded. “All our beds are the same size.”
“Then one without a foot rail.”
The clerk gazed past Ash’s shoulder. His faded blue eyes widened. “Great Godamighty! What is that thing?”
Ash dinna have to guess what had caught the old man’s attention. “A wolfhound. The room?”
Still staring toward the door, the elderly fellow said, “Dogs—assuming that hulking beast is a dog and not a starving, long-tailed bear—ain’t allowed inside.”
“I told him that but he dinna listen. You’re welcome to give it a go.”
Whirling, the old man fled through the open doors into what appeared to be the dining area. “Miss Hathaway! You better come quick!”
Bollocks. Ash felt a gob of mud hit his ear and turned to glare at Tricks, who was slinging water and mud in a ten-foot arc as he wagged his long, thin tail. “Now look what you’ve done,” he accused. “I should sell you to the Chinamen, so I should.”
“Sir!” A woman marched out of the dining area, the clerk hot on her heels. A blond woman, with eyes as green as Ireland and a look on her pretty face that would send the devil into retreat.
“Animals are not allowed in this establishment.” She waved a hand at the double doors. “Take him outside immediately!”
“He willna stay there without me.”
“Then I’ll bid you good day, as well.”
The old man snickered.
Ash sighed. “I’ve come a long way, so I have, and I’m in desperate need of a warm, dry room. One with a long bed, so my feet willna hang off the end. Can you make an exception this one time?”
Her pretty eyes narrowed in suspicion. “A long way from where?”
“Scotland.”
“I told you he wasn’t from around here,” the clerk muttered.
“Yancey, I’ll handle this!”
But Ash could see his answer had startled her, and he wondered why.
“What is your name, sir?” she asked.
“Ashby.”
“That’s it? No first name?”
Ash shrugged. “Some call me lord.”
Understanding came quickly—the woman was blade sharp. “Lord Ashby? Is that a joke?”
“Regretfully, no. I’ll pay double,” he added to distract her.
“Why are you here? In Heartbreak Creek?”
“I’m seeking a woman.”
The clerk snorted. “Aren’t we all.”
With a hiss of exasperation, she whirled on the old man. “Yancey, please assist Miriam upstairs. Billy”—she waved to the freckled boy watching with wide-eyed interest from his post by the front door—“fetch Sheriff Brodie, if you will
. Now.”
After the boy dashed out the front door and Yancey stomped up the staircase that rose along the wall separating the lobby from the dining room, she returned her attention to Ash. “What woman?”
Ash frowned, put off by the challenge in her tone. Not many would dare. Especially a female. But he had no wish to sleep on the ground again tonight, so he kept his tone pleasant. “Madeline Wallace.”
“Why?”
“I have news of her family.”
“What news?”
Bugger this. He started toward the door.
“Ah…double, you say?”
He stopped, debated, then thinking of the cold dampness that awaited him if he left, turned back. “Aye. But the bed canna have a foot rail.”
“You’ll bathe your dog?”
Ash thought of the last attempt. “Aye. If you have four stout men to aid me.”
“You can bathe him in the trough around back. I’ll send out Yancey and Billy with drying rags.” Her green eyes flicked over him. “You may use the tub in the washroom off the kitchen. But not the dog. And we don’t have stables here, so you’ll have to take your horse to the livery on the edge of town.”
It took Yancey, Billy, and two lengths of rope to get Tricks into the trough, but the deed was done without loss of limb. When Ash left the washroom an hour later, clean and freshly dressed with his pouting and mostly clean wolfhound at his heels, he found a man leaning against the wall beside the door, working at his nails with a penknife. By his expression when he saw Ash, it was apparent he had been waiting for him.
“Heard you were looking for Maddie Wallace,” the man said, studying Ash through dark eyes from beneath the brim of his black flat-crowned hat. He was even taller than Ash and solidly built, and he would have carried an air of authority even without the sheriff’s badge pinned to his vest.
Ash nodded. “I am.”
“Mind if I ask why?”
Ash did, so he dinna respond. Tricks plopped onto his belly by Ash’s boot, his rangy body taking up most of the hallway, and began licking the dampness from his front legs.
“Impressive dog,” the man said as he folded the penknife. “Is he as dangerous as he looks?”
“Not to me.”
The sheriff nodded and slipped the penknife into his pocket. Bending down, he let Tricks sniff his open hand, then gently stroked the knobby head.
Ash was surprised. Like most of his breed, Tricks was standoffish with strangers. By accepting the sheriff so readily, it only confirmed Ash’s assessment of the man. A reasonable fellow who wore his position well.
The sheriff straightened. “See that table in the back corner?” He pointed across the hall to the open door that led into the dining room. “The one with the ladies?”
Ash followed his direction and saw the blond woman seated with a dark-skinned woman and a pregnant sandy-haired woman. All three were staring their way. And frowning. “Aye, I see them.”
“The blond is Lucinda Hathaway,” the sheriff explained in a friendly tone. “Owns the hotel. Yankee. Smart. Carries a pepperbox pistol. Far as I know, she hasn’t killed anyone with it. The dark-skinned woman is Prudence Lincoln. She lives at the school the ladies set up for ex-slaves and anyone else who wants to come learn. Whether she likes it or not, she’s under the protection of a Cheyenne Dog Soldier. Ever heard of them?”
Ash had. He’d never seen one, but he’d heard of their legendary fierceness in battle and admired them for it. He was Scottish, after all. But right now he was less curious about Indians than why the sheriff was telling him all this.
“Now that blue-eyed beauty,” the man went on, his voice softening as he looked at the sandy-haired woman. “She’s Edwina Brodie. She might fool some with her southern charm, but she’s pretty handy with a shovel and once even faced down a mountain lion with a bucket of salad greens. And if that’s not enough to give a man pause…” Swinging his gaze back to Ash, he gave him a hard look. “There’s me.”
Ash heard the challenge but gave no reaction. “And who are you?”
The sheriff touched the tips of two fingers to the brim of his hat. “Declan Brodie. I’m temporary sheriff here at Heartbreak Creek. And her husband.”
The warning was clear, although Ash had no idea why Sheriff Brodie had issued it. Maddie Wallace was the woman he had come to see, not these females. “Why temporary?” he asked.
“Because I’m a rancher,” Brodie explained, which explained nothing. “As you can see,” he went on, glancing back toward the women, “the ladies are upset. It’s not good when they get upset.”
“Which of us is in trouble?” Ash asked, although he had a fair idea.
Brodie flashed white teeth in a crooked grin that changed his austere face to one that women might find handsome. “Hell, I’ve got four kids and a pregnant wife. I’m always in trouble. But this time, it’s you.”
“What have I done?”
“That depends.” No longer smiling, the sheriff stepped toward Ash.
Immediately Tricks rose.
The sheriff paused, looked from the dog to Ash, but came no closer. He showed no menace, yet Ash sensed an unbendable resolve within the man. He respected that, since it was a trait they had in common.
“Why are you looking for Maddie?” Brodie asked again.
That was the second time the sheriff had casually used the shortened version of Madeline’s name. Ash dinna like the sound of it on another man’s tongue. “As I told the Hathaway woman, I have news of her family,” he said stiffly. “Is she here?”
Brodie remained silent. Ash suspected he was being assessed by the lawman, and although he dinna like it, he withstood it without showing his growing irritation.
The women continued to watch them and whisper quietly amongst themselves. Ash could feel the censure in their eyes and wondered what he’d done to cause it.
“She’s off making pictures,” the sheriff finally said. “Should be back in a week or so, then she’ll be leaving again for the big meeting up in Denver.”
“Meeting about what?”
“Political thing. Statehood. Delegates are coming from all over the territory. Promises to be quite a gathering.”
“She’s a delegate?” That surprised him. Despite her father’s leanings, she had showed no interest in politics before. But then, that she was here instead of Scotland where she belonged showed how little he knew her.
“No, I am. Part of the job. Or so I’ve been told.”
Ash heard the disgust in the man’s voice and guessed the sheriff wasna excited about the trip. But he’d heard enough to know this was the woman he sought, and his natural impatience caused him to speak more sharply than he intended. “I canna wait another week. Where is she now?”
The sheriff reared his head back and subjected Ash to another lengthy assessment.
Ash was weary of it. “It’s important that I speak to her.”
“You’ll not hurt her?”
“I dinna hurt women.”
After more scrutiny, the sheriff sighed, as if he’d come to a decision he might later regret. “She headed up to the Alamosa a month ago.”
“The Alamosa?”
“Alamosa River. Things are hopping up there since the strikes.”
Brodie must have seen Ash’s confusion. “Gold strikes,” he clarified. “Miners are pouring in from all over. She wanted to document it. Photograph it. She’s a photographer. Didn’t you know that?”
Of course Ash knew. It was through her photographs that he had tracked her this far. But he thought the woman had more sense than to go haring off to a place as dangerous as a wide-open mining town. “She dinna go alone, did she?”
“She’s got Wall-eyed Willy with her, not that he’d be much protection.”
Bluidy hell.
“You going after her?”
“Aye. I’m going after her.” After tracking the lass from Scotland to England to Boston, then halfway across America, Ash wasna about to lose
her in some western mining town. Daft woman. But first, he had to send word to his banker in Boston, telling him to let his family know where he was and that he’d found her. “Is there a telegraph office in town?”
NEAR BRECKENRIDGE, COLORADO TERRITORY
Sixty miles away, in an abandoned mining shack not far from the Blue River, loud voices cut through the night.
“You moron!” Cletus Cochran caught his brother, Silas, on the side of his head with a backhand that sent the younger, smaller man flying. “You idiot! I told you to watch him, not kill him!”
“I didn’t mean to, Clete, I swear.” Si cowered, one hand pressed to his cheek, the other raised to ward off another blow. “But he got loose and was about to get away, and when I tried to stop him, he started hollering and hitting me and I was afraid—”
“So you cut his damn throat?” Clete’s kick sent Si hard against the wall. Dust and dirt rained down from the sod roof, momentarily dimming the pale lantern light and making him cough.
Si cried out, sliding down the rough planks and rolling into a ball. “It was an accident, Clete! I didn’t mean to. The knife just slipped. I swear.”
Clete kicked him one more time because he could, then turned and studied the dead body sprawled on the dirt floor. There was blood everywhere, on the log walls, on his brother, even on the pale, thin roots hanging down through the beams overhead. Si must have cut an artery. The place smelled like a goddamn slaughterhouse. “Did he tell you anything?”
Eyeing his older brother, Si pushed himself into a sitting position. “No, Clete. Mostly he just yelled.”
“You freak. I should have killed you the day you were born.”
“Ma wouldn’t let you. That’s what you said.”
“I should have killed her, too, just for birthing you.”
Suddenly remembering, Si reached into his pocket. Pulling out a small leather pouch, he offered it to his brother. “Look, Clete. I found it in his pack. I think it’s gold.”