Lucky Creek Lady

by Shirley Kennedy

  Obviously, she wasn’t thinking clearly. She had better pull herself together. She should be thinking of poor Valeria, not her ridiculous attraction to a man she’d once found, at the least, unpleasant. “A room at the Gold Spike would be fine,” she replied in the primmest, most proper tone she could manage. “And if you can get word to my family, I’d much appreciate it.”

  Chapter 12

  Although the lynch mob had dispersed, an air of excitement still hung over the town. Noisy groups of men, still worked up from the near lynching, packed every saloon. In the crowded lobby of the Gold Spike, the clerk at the counter threw up his hands. “We’re full up, Mr. McKenna. No use going someplace else. There’s not an empty hotel room in this town.”

  Darcy turned to Laurie. “Don’t worry, you can have my room.”

  “But where will you sleep?”

  “I’ll find a bed.”

  Laurie was about to protest when an attractive woman in her forties, a bit on the plump side, approached and spoke to Darcy. “Are you all right? I heard what happened.” She saw the blood on his head and gasped. “Oh, my dear, you’re hurt.”

  “I’m fine, Lucille.”

  The woman caught sight of Laurie, standing beside him. For the fleetest of moments, her lips parted in surprise, but she quickly recovered and said pleasantly, “We’ve never met, but I believe you’re Laurie Sinclair.”

  “Yes, she is.” Darcy performed introductions, explaining, “Valeria cooked for the Sinclair family, so of course Miss Sinclair’s very concerned. She’ll be staying here tonight so she can give Valeria all the support she can at the trial tomorrow.”

  Mrs. Wagner frowned with concern. “Do you have a room, Miss Sinclair? We’re full up, and I don’t think I can—”

  “I’m giving her my room,” Darcy said.

  “Well then, I guess you’ll have to sleep on the floor in the lobby.”

  “I guess I will.”

  Whom did they think they were fooling? Laurie immediately caught the subtle significance of their exchange. So that’s how it was. She’d never given a thought to the women in Darcy’s life, if indeed there were any, but she’d be a fool not to notice the adoration in Lucille Wagner’s eyes when she looked at him. She owned the hotel and no doubt lived here. Obviously, he wouldn’t be sleeping on the lobby floor tonight. But wherever he slept certainly wasn’t her business. She had much graver concerns. “I’m hoping they’ll let me in the jail tomorrow. Valeria doesn’t deserve this. I’ve never known a better person, always generous, always kind, and I’ll do all I can to help her.”

  Sympathy filled the hotel owner’s eyes. “That poor woman. If there’s anything I can do to help, you must let me know.” She turned to Darcy. “That cut looks terrible.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  Mrs. Wagner didn’t press the point. Whether she shared her bed with Darcy or not, Laurie recognized her as one of those warm-hearted, motherly women she’d always admired but could never hope to emulate.

  Declaring how busy she was, Mrs. Wagner soon disappeared. Laurie turned to Darcy. “Just show me where your room is.” His head had stopped bleeding but was still a mess. “And we’ll tend to that cut before you go.”

  They climbed three flights of stairs to his room. When he opened the door, and she stepped inside, the stark furnishings surprised her. Bed, bureau, one chair, and a washstand. This was all? She’d be foolish to believe all mine owners lived in a palatial mansion, but considering he owned a successful mine, she’d somehow expected more than a shabby room like this. Not that she’d say so. After he stepped inside and shut the door, a sudden awkwardness overcame her. She’d never been in a man’s hotel room before. Not just any man, either, but a man she’d unexpectedly found attractive. “Before you go, let’s take care of that cut,” she said briskly.

  “Don’t bother. I can take care of it.” He stood with his hand on the doorknob, ready to leave.

  “Don’t be foolish. You can’t see the back of your head, can you? It looks terrible.”

  “If you say so.” He stepped inside and sat on the bed. “There’s fresh water in the basin and fresh towels underneath.”

  Acutely aware of his eyes upon her, she found the towels, dipped one in the water and wrung it out. “I don’t suppose you have any iodine?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think we don’t want your cut to get infected.” She walked to the bed and stood over him. “Turn your head so I can see.” When he did, she exclaimed, “Good Lord, it’s worse than I thought. That rock could have killed you.”

  “Well, it didn’t.”

  She started dabbing at the cut, trying to be gentle, but now and then he winced. “Sorry I’m hurting you.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Just do what you have to do.”

  Of course, she’d do what she had to do, but the trouble was, being so intimately close like this had affected her ability to think straight. What was wrong with her? She should be thinking of poor Valeria sitting in the jailhouse expecting to be hung in the morning, but instead, being this close to Darcy had put strange thoughts in her head. She found herself aching for Darcy to touch her, to kiss her again like he had that night in Hangtown. But obviously he had other things on his mind. Since then, his standoffish attitude had clearly informed her his interests lay elsewhere. Now she knew where. After he left the room, she’d wager on her life he’d soon be sharing a bed with the warm and comforting Mrs. Wagner. But then, how could she blame him when she’d made it abundantly clear that her heart belonged to one Brandon Cooper of Philadelphia?

  Gently as possible, she cleaned out the cut and wiped the blood away from his thick, dark hair. The trouble was, the longer she stood so close to him, the more aware she became of his long, lean body, the scent of him, the heat of his skin. She could hardly breathe, she was so aware of him, which was just so ridiculous. He’d made it clear he had no interest in her and was no doubt anxious for her to finish so he could get to the welcoming arms of the widow.

  He sat still as a statue the whole time. When she finished, she tossed the towel to the washstand. “There, I’ve cleaned it out. It should be fine now.” Right about now, she should back away, tell him goodbye, but a force beyond herself kept her feet from moving. As if it had a mind of its own, her hand reached out and rested lightly on his shoulder. Words she had no control over came to her lips. “Darcy, I…I so admire you for what you did tonight. Most men wouldn’t have been so brave. You were truly…truly…”

  She heard a quick groan, felt his hands wrap around her waist. Before she could understand what was happening, she found herself lifted high in the air, then flat on her back on the bed, Darcy hovering over her. “You find me truly what?” he asked, his breath coming hard. Before she could answer, he slid his open hand behind her head, pulled her mouth to his, and planted a demanding, searing kiss that lasted until he pulled away and left a trail of kisses from her forehead to her chin.

  When he lifted his head, she wrapped her arms around him, whispering, “I find you truly desirable, Darcy McKenna. Kiss me again.” Was that really her talking? Right about now she, the properly brought up Miss Sinclair, should be putting a stop to this nonsense. She could think of all kinds of reasons why she shouldn’t be in this man’s hotel room, on his bed, about to throw her so-called precious virtue to the winds. But more than that, how could they be doing this when poor Valeria sat in the jailhouse waiting to die? But after a night like tonight, the trouble was, she was tired of thinking, tired of always doing the correct thing, not what she really wanted, and right now what she really wanted beyond all reason was Darcy McKenna.

  He kissed her again, long and slow, and when his hand began a slow slide down her arm and over to her breast, all she could focus on was the heat of it through the fabric of her dress. He began to fumble with the buttons that ran down the bodice of her gown, and she reached t
o help him.

  * * * *

  Darcy had never thought of himself as a passionate man. To the contrary, he’d grown up in a home so cold and loveless, he’d had no idea what true passion was, and figured he’d never find out. True, he’d been with a woman from time to time. Lately he’d been completely satisfied with his comfortable relationship with Lucille, and she, he was sure, with him. But that was nothing more than a convenient arrangement. Never, until tonight, had he known what it was like to make love to a woman in the true sense of the word. To give himself to her completely, forget his own pleasure and think only of her. When they were done and lay spent on the bed, he raised up on one elbow and gazed down at her. Her hair had come loose and spread over the pillow. Her slim body with its inviting curves lay stretched beneath him. “You’re beautiful,” he said, dropping kisses on her cheek and bare shoulder.

  She looked up at him and ran her hands over his damp skin. “I never thought anything could be so…so…” As he watched, her eyes went wide. She was remembering. He’d suspected it wouldn’t take long. “Valeria! Sitting in the jailhouse while I—”

  “Hush.” He silenced her with a soft kiss on her mouth. “Tomorrow we’ll think about Valeria, but tonight is ours.” He lay beside her and pulled her tight against him.

  “It’s ours.” She snuggled her head on his shoulder and sighed with contentment.

  * * * *

  At the crack of dawn, Laurie awoke with a start. Valeria. The trial. Darcy lay asleep, his arm slung across her. Carefully she slid from underneath, stood by the bed and looked down at his bare body, only half covered by the blankets. She liked everything about him—his muscular arms, bare and covered with silky hairs, his narrow waist and lean hips. They’d made love last night. If this were an ordinary day, she’d be reliving every single minute of it. How it happened, why it happened, how she’d felt when it happened. But no time to think about it now. She must get to Valeria.

  The Gold Spike Hotel was so modern it had an indoor bathroom at the end of the hall. She made use of it, washed, dressed, and twisted her hair in a bun atop her head. By the time Darcy woke up, she was just about ready to leave. “Good morning,” she said briskly and headed for the door. “I don’t have time to talk. I don’t care what the sheriff said. I’m going to see Valeria before the trial.”

  Darcy swung from the bed, wrapping a towel around his middle. “Wait. The streets aren’t safe with all those fools running around. You’re not going alone.” His gaze softened. “About last night…”

  “We don’t have time.” She instantly regretted her edgy reply. “I’m sorry. It’s Valeria—”

  “You don’t have to explain. Just wait.”

  He washed and dressed in no time. At his insistence, they ate a quick breakfast in the dining room. He made no further mention of what had occurred in his room last night, and for that she was grateful. She needed time to sort it through, and besides that, nothing but Valeria mattered now. She was all they talked about. “Don’t get your hopes up,” he warned her again.

  As they walked to the jailhouse, Laurie looked up at the bright blue sky. What a beautiful, sunny day it was, but poor Valeria wouldn’t think so, not when she was sitting in jail, alone, shocked, and she must be terribly frightened. Laurie could only imagine how awful it must feel to be so hated that an enraged mob wanted her dead. She clenched her fists at the thought of it. “They can’t kill a woman. Nobody should die on a day like this. I refuse to believe they could do such a terrible thing.”

  Darcy’s somber expression revealed his concern. “By now you’ve got to know Lucky Creek can be a heartless place. That’s the way it is in the West. I’ve seen brutal floggings for nothing more than petty theft. I’ve seen men get their ears cut off for cheating at cards, and they were lucky they didn’t lose their lives instead of their ears. Listen, Laurie…” He stopped in the street and gripped her arms. “The world’s not a fair place, much as you’d like to think so. I said don’t get your hopes up, and I meant it. Chances are, they won’t let you see her, much less listen to anything you have to say.”

  “No!” She shook her head and broke away from his grasp. “I don’t believe you. There will be a fair trial. I will make them let me testify, and I’ll tell them what a fine woman she is, and how I often saw bruises on her face, put there by that lowlife, Emery Finch. I can’t believe they won’t listen.”

  Darcy said nothing more. They started walking again and soon arrived at the jail. Already at least a hundred people had gathered in the square in front. In contrast to the ugly mood of last night, this morning’s crowd possessed almost a jovial attitude, as if they were looking forward to some kind of entertainment. “Look at them,” Laurie whispered to Darcy as they pushed their way through. “You’d think they want her found guilty just so they can have the pleasure of watching someone hang.”

  Darcy didn’t answer. He put a protective arm around her and guided her to the jailhouse entrance. The door was locked. He knocked, and no one answered. He began to pound, and kept pounding until finally, the door opened a crack, and a deputy poked his head out. “You can’t come in. Nobody’s coming in.”

  “This young lady is Miss Laurie Sinclair, Valeria’s employer,” Darcy said with cool authority. “She has every right to see her.”

  “Wait.” The deputy’s head disappeared, and the door closed. Minutes went by before he opened it again. “Sorry, the sheriff says no one can come in. Valeria sent a message for Miss Sinclair, though.”

  Laurie’s heart jumped at the sound of her name. “What did she say?”

  “She wants you to get her a piece of rope or heavy twine. Six feet or so. She says you can get it to her at the trial.”

  “But why does she want—”

  The door slammed shut. Darcy took her arm. “Let’s get out of here.”

  She pulled away. “This isn’t right. Why won’t they let me in?” She raised her hand to knock again, but Darcy’s quick, firm clasp of her wrist caught her before she could. “You’re wasting your time, Laurie. Come away. All you can do now is stand by. At least she knows you’re here.”

  Mixed feelings surged through her. How dare they keep her from seeing Valeria? Part of her wanted to hurl herself against the door, pound with her fists, demand the sheriff let her in. But another, more sensible, part told her Darcy was right. She could pound all she pleased, but they weren’t going to open the door again. “All right, we’ll wait for the trial.”

  In defeat, she turned and walked down the steps. So far, she’d done nothing to help Valeria, and the way things were going, doubted she could. How could she, or anyone, save her cook from the hangman’s noose? She’d been so sure she could help, but now her confidence was fading, and she was beginning to wonder.

  * * * *

  By the time the trial started, a cold knot had formed in Laurie’s stomach. As Valeria had requested, she and Darcy had gone to the general store and purchased six feet of heavy twine, although Laurie still couldn’t imagine what it was for. Despite the boisterous crowd packing the town square, they managed to push their way to the front row where they watched the sheriff’s deputies set up tables and chairs for the judge and jury. They placed a lone chair to one side, no doubt meant for Valeria. After completing the setup, the deputies carried in a long wooden box that looked like a coffin. Laurie gasped when she realized indeed it was a coffin. Inside, the body of Emery Finch lay dressed in a suit and tie, arms crossed, the expression on his face so kindly and serene he looked almost saintly. A great hoot and holler went up at the sight of him. “Old Emery looks better dead than he did alive,” someone jibed.

  “That’s so unfair,” Laurie cried. With a sinking heart she watched as they set the coffin directly in front of the judge’s table. The jurors had already been selected, Laurie didn’t know how. As they took their seats, Darcy uttered an oath. “I recognize most of them. Either they’re friends of Em
ery’s, they work at the Palace, or both.”

  Cheers and whistles erupted when the judge entered and took his seat. “Do you recognize him?” Darcy asked quietly. No, she didn’t. “They brought in Judge Bert Sanger from over in Hangtown. He’s as corrupt as they come. He’s good friends with the owner of the Palace.”

  Two burly deputies appeared, half hauling Valeria between them. She looked so frail and vulnerable, hands bound in front of her, scarcely able to walk, but holding her head high. As she took her seat, she raised her chin with defiance. Her bowler hat was gone. Despite her bound hands, she managed to flip one braid over her shoulder. She sat rigid and straight backed, staring directly ahead as if she wasn’t aware of her surroundings, but when Laurie gave a slight wave, she saw it and inclined her head in the briefest of nods.

  The trial got underway. The first few witnesses heaped praise upon that fine fellow, Emery Finch. How generous he was, kind, considerate, a real pillar of the community. Although no one had seen the actual stabbing, several surmised as to how “that Latina woman” had to be the one who stabbed poor Emery. They all agreed hanging was too good for her.

  The judge summoned Doc Hansen to the witness chair. In a calm, straightforward manner, he described the stab wound. “Only the one, but straight to the heart, and that’s what killed him.” The judge told him he could leave, but Doc had more to say. “In my opinion, Valeria Gomez is not in a fit condition to be hanged. As you can see from her face she’s been badly beaten…”

  He could not continue. A chorus of jeers and boos drowned him out.

  The good doctor sat in the witness chair patiently waiting for the taunts and threats to die down. Several times, he tried to speak, but each time the noise of the crowd forced him to silence. Finally, with a sad shake of his head, he cast a regretful look at Valeria, shrugged his shoulders in defeat, and left the witness chair.