“Give me a minute, all right?” She tried to smile and headed to the bar, wanting nothing more than to be out of this place. A grubby miner reached for her skirt as she passed, and she pushed his hand aside. “Now, Calvin, you know better than that.” She winked and kept moving, sensing the bartender’s hawk eyes honing in. No need to give him an excuse to squeal to the boss.
The clamor of bottles clinking against the rims of glasses sounded around the room. The place had filled with miners when the day shift ended at the nearby New Caledonia mine. She’d heard the rumor that a group of townsmen had formed a temperance society, but it didn’t appear as though the miners cared to take part. It would probably be short-lived, regardless. She’d seen few towns that could persist in their decision to remain dry.
She leaned over the bar and placed the order for the thirsty miner awaiting his drink. The bartender shoved it the couple of feet to her open hand, and she plucked it off the bar. “Sam?”
The dark man scrunched heavy brows over brooding eyes and scowled. “Yeah? What’cha want?”
Christy did her best to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “Can you get word to Mr. Sanders that I’d like to speak to him? Soon?”
Sam’s face was blank for a moment before realization dawned. “Sanders, huh? Sure. I’ll get word to Mr. Sanders.” His laughter conveyed anything but a sense of mirth and sent a shiver over Christy’s bare skin.
Christy dropped her eyes and kept her face passive. “Thanks.” She swung away from the bar and hurried back to the waiting miner. He reached out a meaty hand and she placed the drink into it without looking at him.
The rest of the evening dragged by, with the rotgut whiskey flowing from the bar almost faster than she could serve it. The piano found in most saloons was noticeably absent. Instead, a man who’d had a little too much to drink swayed on his feet and played a mouth harp, while another man tapped out the tune on the base of a wooden bucket. It didn’t appear that anyone cared whether there was entertainment or not, as long as the drinks held out.
After traveling the treacherous, steep canyon trail from Michigan Bluff, Christy could understand why a pack mule driver wouldn’t burden his animal with a piano. She shuddered, remembering some of the trails where she’d chosen to walk behind the animal, too frightened to ride. One misstep on loose rocks could easily send a mule—and its rider—over the edge to their deaths at the bottom of the ravine.
Maybe that would have been a better end for her than coming here. Quick and simple—but painful. No, she’d take her chances with Sanders, or whatever he called himself here. If only she could climb back on that mule and disappear.
Christy scrubbed the last table then leaned her fists on the counter and rocked backward, hoping to relieve the tension in her lower back. What a rotten job. She’d give anything to get out of the mess her life had become.
“Christy.” Sam beckoned from behind the bar and pointed to a door at the back of the room. “Get over there. Someone to see you.”
She straightened her back and dropped her hands to her sides. Finally. She couldn’t see the man’s face hidden in the shadows beyond the open door, but she hoped it was Sanders. A loud thump made her flinch and she turned. Sam picked up another chair and turned it upside down onto the table. She’d better hurry. He’d be cussing at her to get back and start sweeping if she took too long.
A quick glance told her that the stranger was no longer standing at the door. She hurried to the rear of the smoky saloon and placed the palm of her hand against the rough wooden door, giving it a slight shove. It squealed in protest but finally swung open. She slipped through. The darkness in the small storeroom was almost complete. Only the little bit of dim light from the main saloon penetrated into this hovel. She sniffed, not liking the odor that assailed her nostrils. Sweaty clothing and damp, earthen walls. The back of the building must be up against some type of hill, or else a cellar lay beneath.
“Is anyone here? Mr. Sanders, is that you?” She stepped another foot into the room, willing her eyes to adjust to the dim light.
“No, Mr. Sanders ain’t here, but I am.” A low voice spoke from a nearby corner, sending chills up Christy’s bare arms. “Now ain’t you a pretty thing.” The leering voice drew closer, and Christy took a step back.
“I asked to see Mr. Sanders.” She tried to stand her ground and keep her voice level. This type of man preyed on the fear of others, and she didn’t intend to feed that lust.
A sharp bark of a laugh came from a few feet away, and a shadowy figure loomed in front of her. “Don’t matter what you want, missy. It’s the boss what calls the shots, not you, and you’d do well not to fergit it.” He rubbed his hands together then wiped them down the sides of his pants and leaned closer, staring into her face. “What you want with him? He tol’ me to talk to ya and bring him word, so spit ’er out whilst you got the chance.”
She drew back a short step then froze at the gleam of satisfaction on the man’s face caused by her nervous gesture. “I want him to let me out of our deal. I tried to do what he asked, but it’s not working. Tell him I’ll help him in some other area.”
“So yer sayin’ you won’t do what he tol’ you? That what I’m hearin’?” The leer on his face changed to a snarl. “Yer playin’ with fire, girl.”
“No.” Christy blurted the word then drew a deep breath, rubbing her hands over her bare arms. “I tried. Tell him I tried, but the man says he has proof that I’m lying. I’ll do whatever Sanders wants me to do, if he’ll just let me slip out of town and forget this.”
“I’ll tell him for ya, but he ain’t goin’ to like it.” The man stepped back in the shadows and a floorboard squeaked. Christy heard his hand rattle what sounded like a doorknob. Light flooded the dank room, and just as quickly the door shut behind the man, leaving her once again in the murky dark.
Justin exited the tiny telegraph office with a paper clutched in his hand. The answer had come back sooner than he’d expected from the sheriff in Auburn. He dreaded opening the missive, as he’d expected a reply from the minister.
He glanced up the street, thankful to see few pedestrians lurking on the streets or boardwalks. As much as he wanted to rip into this message, he’d rather find a quiet spot. It looked like there might be a small clearing below the blacksmith and livery stable, from what he could see through the scattering of oak and small pine trees.
He struck out up the street and cut behind the dry goods store, going across the narrow, sparsely wooded area to the side of the smithy. He headed down the slight embankment and into the clearing that encompassed at least two acres. A sparkling pool of water lay on the east side. A fallen log drew him, and he sank onto its rough surface.
The telegram lay in his lap. Its contents could protect his right to keep Toby and clear him with Alex, or it could once again turn his world upside down. It had been hard enough being married to a woman who didn’t love him, but the way she had tried to keep Toby from him had cut deep. He’d fight to keep this boy—he’d done so with Molly, and if need be, he’d do it again with this woman claiming to be her sister. Time to face whatever this small scrap of paper might contain. He held it up to the sunlight filtering through the trees and carefully unfolded it. It contained just a few terse words.
Preacher died last year. Courthouse burned three weeks ago. All records lost. Sheriff Jeffers.
Justin let the paper flutter to his lap and groaned. Maybe he should pack up Toby and hit the trail. Go somewhere Molly’s sister wouldn’t think to look. But what about his promise to Travers? No matter that the man no longer lived—Justin’s promise extended to Travers’s daughter.
Alex.
He dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his eyes. Even without the promise to Ben, he’d have stayed at the Circle T after meeting its new boss. Classy, that’s what she was—classy, smart, beautiful, and capable. Never would he have believed that a woman could take up the challenge of running a ranch full of wranglers and succeed, bu
t she appeared to be making progress. No other wranglers had quit since he’d arrived, and the ones who’d stayed seemed to respect her position as boss.
If only he could talk to Alex about his past. But why would she care? She wouldn’t. Sure, she might feel sorry for him and the boy, but he didn’t want any woman’s pity. Would she believe him if he told her the truth? If the courthouse hadn’t burned…if the minister had lived… But wishing wouldn’t make it so. Alex had no reason to trust his word over anyone else’s—and if she ever discovered that he’d come at her father’s request and not told her, she’d send him packing.
It looked like God had abandoned him this time for sure. He’d prayed for help when he came into this town, and look what a mess he was in now. A solid wedge of bitterness settled into his soul, and this time he didn’t push it out. Hadn’t he cleaned up his act after Toby was born? He’d never darkened the door of a saloon again. Stayed away from women. Done his best to raise his son. So why was God still against him?
Justin pushed to his feet and jammed the telegram in his front pocket. Time to hit the saddle and get back to the ranch. He’d left Toby in Alex’s care long enough. He didn’t want her resenting the boy. No. He needed to care for Toby—regardless of whether the law acknowledged Toby as his. He’d fight for the right to keep his son, and no one would stop him.
Chapter Twenty-four
Three days later Justin stepped off his horse in front of the sheriff’s office and looped his reins around the hitching rail out front. A full day at the ranch had brought him to town late, and he’d put Toby to bed early after Martha offered to keep an ear tuned for the boy.
The last two days had been frustrating. Alex ignored him when he got back from sending his telegram, seemingly lost in the book she was reading to Toby. The two dark heads bent together over the colorful pictures, and Toby’s chubby hand pointed at the book as he tried to follow the words. The image of his little boy snuggled on Alex’s lap had wrenched his heart. Would his son ever know the love of a mother again, or would he always need to depend on housekeepers and caretakers?
He’d attempted to talk to Alex since then, but she hadn’t seemed interested. She’d been acting like a driven woman, putting work first and foremost. This evening was the first time Justin had felt comfortable heading to town.
He raised his hand and reached for the doorknob of the sheriff’s office when it swung open from the inside.
Sheriff Ramsey stood in the dim light, a surprised look on his face as he stared out at Justin. “Just headed home, but I have a few minutes, if you’re lookin’ for me?”
“Thanks, Sheriff.”
Carl Ramsey drew the door back farther and motioned Justin inside. “What’s on your mind, son?”
“More trouble at the Circle T.” Justin stepped across the threshold and heard the door click shut behind him. He sank down into the chair in front of the desk as the sheriff took his seat behind it. Ramsey rocked back in his chair and crossed his arms, his gray eyes boring into Justin’s. “Go ahead; I’m all ears.”
Justin nodded. “Thanks. You already know about Alex’s missing horses and the fence being cut.”
“Yeah. You, Frank, and Alex followed the tracks and lost ’em.”
“Never found the horses, either.”
Ramsey nodded and placed a booted foot up on the corner of his desk. The other foot joined it, and a chunk of dried mud fell to the floor. The sheriff scowled and glared at the offending dirt. “Sarah’s not going to like that.” He snorted and waved a hand. “No matter, I’ll clean it up ’fore she comes. Go on.”
Justin crossed his arms and leaned back. “Carter Foster called on Alex a few days after he brought word about her cut fence. Stayed for dinner and said he’d picked up the contract Alex lost with the cavalry. I don’t trust him, but I can’t prove he’s not on the level.”
“Huh. Ben told me that Foster was some kind of distant relative. He got his ranch from his daddy, along with plenty of money to run it. His herd is big enough to fill more than one army contract. Never figured out why he didn’t get it instead of Travers.” He rubbed his chin. “Never cottoned to him myself, but it wouldn’t surprise me none if he’s sweet on Alex—and he’d not be the only man in the mountains to feel the same.” He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, his back rigid and his voice low. “You think she suspects who done it?”
Justin shrugged. “I’m the new man on the ranch. Not much gets discussed with me. She may have spoken with Joe; I don’t know. None of it makes sense.”
“Hmm. It don’t, at that. I don’t want to see Alex get hurt, if there’s trouble brewin’.” He leaned back and seemed to relax. “Makes you wonder if someone’s out to cause trouble for Alex and Joe or if it’s just some young’uns what had too much to drink that cut the fence. I’m guessin’ you’re here because you think it’s the first case.”
“I do. I can’t prove anything, but I have a bad feeling.” He hesitated, wondering if he should tell about the episode with Christy Grey. No, that was personal and had nothing to do with the ranch. No reason to burden the sheriff.
Ramsey leaned forward. “Wish Alex had come to me right after the horses disappeared. She mentioned it to me not long ago, and I’ve been keepin’ an ear to the ground. I’ll keep nosing around and see if I can turn anything up.”
“Much obliged. I’ll do the same.”
“I’m glad you’re out there. Alex know that her father sent for you?”
Justin winced and shook his head. “No. The subject hasn’t come up.”
Sheriff Ramsey trained a keen pair of eyes on Justin. “Might be just as well. She’s a strong woman. Independent, with a mind of her own. Pretty and smart. She’d be a good catch for a man, but she’d be a poor enemy if she decided you couldn’t be trusted.”
Justin smiled and raised his eyebrows. “Yeah. But I can’t see the man that catches her being someone like me. Alex deserves a man who’s never been married, not one who’d burden her with a ready-made family.”
“About that. I wondered—your boy—he don’t look much like you. He favor his ma?” The shrewd gray eyes peered out from under the bushy brows.
Justin’s gaze held steady. “He does.” A few seconds elapsed and he plunged forward. “I’m not his blood father, but I married his mother well before he was born. If love makes a man a father, then he’s one hundred percent mine.”
“Ah-huh.” The gray head bobbed in agreement. “Thought it might be somethin’ like that. I agree, the boy’s as much yours as his ma’s. Any idea about his natural pa?”
“No, and I don’t care to. The man got Molly in a family way and promised to marry her then disappeared the next day. If I were to discover his name, you’d probably have to lock me up for what I’d do to him.”
Sheriff Ramsey squinted his eyes and rubbed his chin. “Doubtful. Kinda think I wouldn’t be in town the day that happened. Sometimes a man’s got to do what’s right, if you catch my meanin’.”
“I do. But it’ll never happen anyway. The secret died with Molly.”
“Mind me askin’ what happened to your wife? A shame, a young woman like she musta been, dyin’ and leavin’ a little one behind.”
Justin removed his hat and ran his fingers around the rim. “We lived over in Auburn. Funny, coming full circle like that. My pa’s ranch lay between Sacramento and Auburn, and when I left home, I landed there. Met Molly and thought I was in love. Molly didn’t love me. I thought she did when I married her, but I found out not long after that she was with child. And it wasn’t mine.”
“Good of you to take on her problem like that.”
“She was still pining for the baby’s father. I cared for her and I stayed. Guess I hoped she’d come to care for me.”
“What happened?” Carl Ramsey leaned his forearms on the desk.
Justin settled back in his chair. “She started drinking. I think Toby was almost two before I figured out that drink was fueling her black moods. Bernie, the bartender
where she’d worked, kept her supplied. When I found out, I laid him out cold on the floor of the saloon. A few days later, Molly was dead.”
“Dead. Just like that? She take sick?”
“Not the kind you’re thinking of. More like sickness in her soul.” He sighed wearily. “When she found out what happened with Bernie, she threatened to take Toby and leave. The next day I came home to find Toby asleep and alone at the cabin. No Molly in sight. I figured I knew where she’d gone, as I’d dumped out all her bottles a couple of nights before. I knew she wouldn’t go to the saloon, and I’d asked the storekeeper to be sure she didn’t get anything from him.”
“But she got some anyway?”
“No. I think she tried. She went to the store and was on her way back. Don’t know if she was thinking clear. A boy came running to my door, shouting that Molly was hurt. I told him to stay with Toby and raced up the street. She lay in the middle of the road, her body crumpled from a passing wagon.”
Sheriff Ramsey winced and ran his hand over his chin. “Sorry to hear that. What’d the driver say?”
“He never saw her. According to an onlooker, she ran in front of him like the fiends of Hades were on her heels. The man never had a chance to stop. Lead horse knocked her down right under the wheels of the wagon.” He shook his head, trying to clear the memory of Molly’s broken body. “After I buried her, I packed up the boy and moved to Truckee. Too many people around town were talking—saying they thought she did it on purpose ’cause she couldn’t get anything to drink.”
“What do you think?”
Justin wagged his head and closed his eyes for a moment then slowly opened them and focused on the sheriff. “I wish I knew,” he whispered. “I’ll never forgive myself for failing her.”
“You loved her?”
“At first. But I failed just the same. I shoulda been able to make her happy—or at least kept her from sinking so deep into the blackness. I failed the boy, too. He lost his mama and didn’t hardly know me, what with me being gone so much. I shoulda been around more. Took my place as her husband and Toby’s father. Anyway, I swore the truth would never come back to haunt Toby. He’ll be told that his mama loved him—that much is true.”
Love Finds You in Last Chance, California Page 18