PRAISE FOR STEF ANN HOLM AND HER MAGNIFICENT WESTERN ROMANCE
CROSSINGS
“An excellent story; full of suspense, romance and a touch of humor. I enjoyed every minute of this superb book! Stef Ann Holm has created another touching western romance.”
—Nancy Michael, Book Exchange
“A heartwarming story! Wonderful characters. A great book from a talented author.”
—Trudy Audette, Raintree Books
“Crossings kept me on the edge of my seat. It was romantic, suspenseful, intriguing, and, above all, gallant.”
—Nicole Michaels, Books Galore ’N’ More
“Stef Ann Holm has written a ‘keeper.’ I fell for Carrigan even faster than Leah did. . . . A delightful tale of true love. . . . I think I saw John Wayne and Maureen O’Hara between the pages of Crossings.”
—Merry Cutler, Annie’s Book Shop
“Warm, wonderful. Where can I find a Carrigan?”
—Jackie Skimson, Pages, Etc.
“Once again Stef Ann Holm has captured my attention. Carrigan and Helena are perfect together! This one is destined for stardom.”
—Linda Eisenberg, A Novel Idea
“Every book I read by Stef Ann Holm delights me more! She is truly making her spot in the genre.”
—Shelly Ryan, 1,001 Paperbacks
“From the opening trudge up the mountain to the final step over the threshold, Ms. Holm tells a wonderful tale of the power of love to change lives and bring happiness to broken spirits. I loved Carrigan and Helena’s journey of discovery.”
—Denise Smith, Aunt Dee’s Book Bag
“Crossings is a warm, wonderful story. You know from the first page you’re in for a great read. I always recommend Stef Ann Holm to my customers, and they’re never disappointed.”
—Cheri Franc, Books Connection
“Terrific! A hero and a heroine to care about; Carrigan is a wounded man who finds healing through the love of a woman whose need matches his.”
—Gail Link, Waldenbooks
“Here is another winner for Ms. Holm. A tale full of surprises and romance. A very entertaining read!”
—Monika Schneider, The Paper Pad Bookstore
“If you like your men rugged and deliciously sexy, Jake Carrigan is the hero for you! Wonderful book!”
—Jeanette Townsend, Barnes & Noble
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Dedication
“In order to fully understand one’s immediate existence, and to have the wisdom and capability of fully appreciating and finding contentment in the future . . . look back and be the better for it.”
—Frank Wysocki
To Anthony and Anne
To John, Edward, Stella, Stephanie, Frank, and Joseph
To Victor and Agnes
To Dallas, Margaret, and Gloria
Remembered in portraits; remembered in life.
Prologue
Prepare for calamity not yet in bud.
—Chinese proverb
September 14, 1887
Telluride, Colorado
Some said the name Telluride was derived from the phrase “to hell you ride.” This could have been true, because the streets were full of swaggering men, loud laughter, and half-clad women beckoning from saloon doorways. Harlen Shepard Riley had already seen other such wild and woolly towns that could select their names from that very same meaning. But in this case, he should have taken the phrase to heart. For it was in Telluride, on a crisp fall day when the leaves were turning and the world was golden, that the journey to hell began.
After a night of drinking and socializing at the Lookout Saloon, the five members of a gang known as the Loco Boys for their drunken and wild exploits got duded up on Colvin’s suggestion to get their portrait taken. Manny Vasquez, Nate Bender, Thomas Jefferson Ellis, Colvin Henkels, and Harlen Riley hadn’t had a likeness snapped of themselves in ages. They’d been too busy relieving vaults of their wealth and trains of their gold while wearing the vagabond disguises that were the trademark of Harlen’s gang.
For the past five years, they’d been holding up banking institutions, robbing the railroads, rustling cattle, and stealing horses in nine states and territories. No other outlaws were bolder or more marauding. The spark of danger fueled their raids and gave them the thirst for more. Their total take to date was close to a quarter of a million dollars, though not a one of them had a whole lot to show for this obscene amount—except prime horseflesh and the best saddles money could buy. Dollars were squandered on aged liquor, expensive women, and foolish gambling.
But to Harlen, who was twenty-one, he was living as good a life as he could. Any hope for a decent future had been buried in his past mistakes.
Wearing brand new Stetsons, decked out in stylish city slicker duds, and armed with silver-engraved revolvers, the group went into Darling’s Photography Gallery to immortally capture their impressive appearances on camera paper.
An iron horse weight held the door open to air the strong smell of acids and solutions that greeted customers. The fumes were so intense, Harlen’s eyes watered. A cross breeze coming from lifted windows in the rear only marginally helped to vent the place. He idly wondered how they managed to breathe in the winter when the room had to be closed up against the elements.
The reception room was big and decorated with sofas, chairs, and tables that on a first glance seemed to be elegant. On closer inspection, the furnishings were in poor shape. The weave on the damask upholstery was worn thin, and the scrollwork carved into the cherrywood chairs and tables had numerous nicks. There had been some attempt at repair by way of a sloppily applied wood stain, but the chips were no less noticeable.
Harlen strolled to the middle of the room just as a man entered from a doorway off to the left.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he said enthusiastically. Attired in a suit soiled with tiny white spots apparently caused by a bleach of some sort, the proprietor was of middle age and appeared to be fit despite having to contend with the poisons of chemicals on a daily basis.
Colvin spoke up. “We want our portrait taken. All five of us. Together.” Ever conscientious over his appearance, Colvin smoothed an invisible wrinkle out of his tie. He was forever trimming his mustache or combing pomade into his blond hair. Harlen had to admit, Colvin was the best looking out of the five of them. And the son of a bitch knew it.
“That would be fine. A sitting for five. My name is Edwin Darling, and I’m happy you’ve come to me.” He gestured toward the doorway. “Will you step this way, please?”
“I’ll go first and check things out,” Manny remarked, his hand falling over the butt of the revolver he kept beneath his long coat. With his eyes halfway closed, as if he were trying to trim the world down so he didn’t have so much to take in, he went after Darling. The rest of them followed.
The room they entered was brightly lit and had a pair of Grecian columns on either side of a backdrop painted with unusual trees and a fountain. There was a pedestal and a vase of dried flowers.
“Now then.” Edwin arranged some chairs, not showing any intimidation over their being armed. Portraits taken of men wearing guns and spurs to show their bravado weren’t uncommon. “Three will sit and two will stand. Proportioning is important.”
Harlen hung back, watching as the man fidgeted and worked with the furniture. Thomas Jefferson sniffed around the bottles on the counter as Nate took out his tobacco bag to
roll a smoke.
“You better not do that.”
A child’s voice caught them all off guard, but none more than Harlen. The admonition came from right at his side. He gazed down and saw a girl with two brown braids and wide, large eyes the color of honey, wearing a striped pinafore with a hole in one of the pockets. She was tall for an age Harlen guessed to be around nine or ten.
“If you light that, mister,” she frowned at Nate, “you’ll blow us all to smithereens. No smoking in here.”
“Yeah,” Thomas Jefferson clipped, while nudging Nate. “What kind of dumb ass are you?”
Nate stuffed the bag into his trouser pocket, his hand following as he shrugged and said quietly, “Just nervous is all. Thought I saw someone we knew outside.”
“Who?” Harlen asked. With the kid standing there, Harlen didn’t expect Nate to go into detail.
“An old friend of ours. Mr. Strawn.”
Harlen nodded, hoping Nate was wrong. Thayne Strawn was a Merchants and General detective who had a lot of guts and was always itching to let off some steam. He apprehended his wanteds in whatever manner—legal or not—he could get them. So far, the Loco Boys had eluded him, but Strawn was no idiot. If he was out there, they’d better watch their backs.
“Little Darlin’,” Edwin called over his shoulder while putting one of the wicker chairs into position, “could you get one of the Eastman dry plates for me?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Now, you go here.” Edwin gestured for Thomas Jefferson to sit in one of the chairs. “Then you and you.” Nate and Colvin followed and were adjusted in their respective poses.
Harlen was glad the man didn’t ask them their names. Some people were natural born talkers and questioners. Edwin seemed focused only on his work, which suited Harlen fine. He wanted the photograph completed as soon as possible so they could get out of Telluride.
“You, sir.” He pointed to Manny and positioned him to stand between Thomas Jefferson and Nate. Then gesturing to Harlen, “And you. If you please, right here.” Harlen stood behind Thomas Jefferson and Colvin.
Edwin went to his tripod, took the plate from the girl, and set it on top of the wooden camera box. Affectionately smiling at her, he said, “Thank you, assistant.”
Little Darlin’ beamed, and her sweet face caused a heaviness to settle in Harlen’s chest. Right in the middle of his heart. Back home, he had three younger brothers and two younger sisters. The littlest, Mary, had been a baby when Harlen had left Moab. He wouldn’t be able to recognize her if he passed her on the street. This greatly saddened him and brought to mind the homestead in Utah where he’d grown up. Most every day, he thought about his parents and their struggle to make ends meet. About the unfairness they had had to endure from the bank. If Harlen hadn’t seen too few roses and too many thorns, he’d probably still be back there with a plow strap around his shoulder behind Old Dutch the mule, digging into land that could very well be taken from them again.
Scratching out such an uncertain existence wasn’t Harlen’s way anymore. He’d grown too cynical and too bitter against big-moneyed thieves saying they had his family’s best interests in mind, when all along the greed of the bankers feasted on the homesteaders. So to Harlen, his crimes against banks were justifiable.
“You gentlemen look as stiff as dead dogs,” Edwin said while peeking from the edge of the black cloth over his head. “If you’ll forgive my asking, are you good friends?”
The boys were the only friends Harlen had. These men were as close to being his brothers without blood as anyone he knew. “We’ve been through just about anything a man can and still come out trusting each other with our lives,” Harlen supplied.
Manny nodded his agreement.
“Then let the portrait show your loyalty to one another.” Edwin came forward and placed Manny’s hands on Nate and Thomas Jefferson’s shoulders. Without being prompted, Harlen moved his hands to Thomas Jefferson and Colvin’s shoulders.
Standing back, Edwin studiously gazed at them. “There’s something else . . . something that isn’t quite right . . .”
“I know, Daddy,” the girl said. “It’s the hands of the three in the front. They need to be turned just a little.”
Edwin squinted. “Little Darlin’, I believe you are right.” He kissed the top of her head, and she giggled.
Just then, a woman appeared in the doorway. “Excuse me, Edwin.”
She was so stunningly beautiful that she brought out a gasp from Colvin, who claimed he’d laid eyes on, and laid, every fine miss this side of the Rockies. Well, he hadn’t had this one. She was high quality all the way. The color of her dress brought to mind summer peaches, with the lace at her collar being the sugary cream. Her figure was perfect, the nip in her waist so tiny it was hard to believe the child in the room could belong to her. But the resemblance was there. The lady’s hair was burnished brown and swept up high on her head with a feathered hat anchored in the back.
For some reason, the woman didn’t quite fit in with the scene of the man in a stained suit and a girl with a torn pocket. With her refined manner and smooth voice, she looked and sounded as if she belonged on a stage in a big city.
“It’s quite all right, Evaline.”
“Forgive my intrusion, gentlemen,” she said, her tone so low and husky, Harlen noticed Colvin had to shift in his chair. “I’m going to the post office now, Edwin. I’ll return shortly.”
“Yes, Evaline, dear.” Edwin resumed his station beneath the cloth, having put some of the boys’ hands on their thighs and some resting casually on the armrests of the chair. “That was a good suggestion you had, Little Darlin’.”
The child smiled, but her smile was for the woman exiting the gallery. She trailed after her. “Good-bye, Momma.”
Evaline stopped and allowed the girl to clasp her arms around the fullness of her skirt. “Behave yourself.”
“I will, Momma.”
The woman hurried along, not really cold toward her daughter but not really all that warm either. Harlen’s own mother, despite having six children underfoot, had had a loving touch and kiss for each of them at any hour of the day. Maybe that should have been enough to make Harlen feel contented and secure enough to stay in Moab, but he’d been a part of the land as much as he’d been a part of his parents’ love. Above all things, Harlen had valued his freedom too much not to fight back.
“Your gold watch is causing a glare,” Edwin was saying, motioning to Harlen. “Please tuck the chain in farther. Thank you, sir. I’m about ready.”
He disappeared inside that tunnel of dark cloth and bounced back a number of times, then came the muffled command, “Smile, gentlemen.”
Harlen tried, but he wasn’t much good at it.
Edwin didn’t take the picture. He popped out from the cloth with a frown.
The girl laughed. “You all look as if you’ve just been laid out on an undertaker’s table and are waiting to be embalmed.”
Her attempt at trying to make them crack smiles fell short. Edwin slipped a brass cap over the lens, then inserted that plate into the back of the camera. He’d already poured a granular compound on a platform that was head-height, and at his shoulder. After a final scrutiny of the group, he removed the brass cap and counted to the tap of his foot. Then he ignited that compound and a flash lit the room brighter than the sun. The explosion had them all blind and groping for their guns.
Edwin capped the lens and put the plate into a case, then started upon seeing five guns trained on him. Shoving Little Darlin’ behind his back, he stammered, “Eh . . . gentlemen . . . is there a problem?”
“What kind of picture is that you took?” Manny asked suspiciously.
“An artificially lit photograph.” Confusion and a thread of fear were mirrored in Edwin’s eyes. “I assure you, I did nothing out of the ordinary.” The little girl’s tiny hand fit around her father’s waist as she peeked out from the side of his coat. “You may relax, gentlemen.”
&nbs
p; Harlen eased the tension from his shoulders, not realizing how tight his muscles had been. They reholstered their revolvers and shuffled out of the positions Edwin had had them in. The studio now smelled like a barrel of rotten eggs. Colvin held his nose.
“The photograph will be ready shortly. You can wait in the receiving room.” Then he gazed at his daughter and commented lightly, “Little Darlin’, why don’t you come and help Daddy?”
Clearly he wanted the child safely by his side after what had happened with the loose guns.
“Didn’t mean to alarm you,” Harlen stated before Little Darlin’ could reply. “We won’t be taking our guns out again.”
“It’s quite all right.” But Harlen could tell it wasn’t. The man was still unnerved.
Little Darlin’s eyes fell on Harlen and she stared at him. “I’ll get you freshwater for the bucket, Daddy.”
Edwin vacillated, then said, “All right. Go through the house and use the pump out in the yard.” Then he went into a small room that appeared to be lit by a singular yellow flame.
The girl held back, watching as the boys filed out. Harlen was last, so she kept her gaze on him the longest. Before he exited, he paused. Reaching into his breast pocket, he withdrew a fancy snowdrop caramel. He was partial to candy and always had a few pieces on him.
Harlen offered the caramel to her while saying, “You’re a credit to your daddy, sweet pea.”
She gazed at him with hesitation, her little fingers quivering as to whether to accept the confection from him.
“Don’t have to take it if you don’t want to,” he said, moving to put the candy back in his pocket.
Her hand darted out and she snatched the caramel lickety-split. “Thanks, mister.”
Harlen smiled, then walked through the doorway and met up with Nate. The two of them stepped onto the boardwalk for a smoke while Colvin, Thomas Jefferson, and Manny stayed inside to look at the carte de visite collection and pictures in the stereoscope.
Portraits Page 1