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The Gold Digger

Page 3

by The Gold Digger (lit)


  “What’s that?”

  “We’re the Dare brothers, and the Dare brothers are lucky sons-of-bitches. Besides, once Ty gets that crew, we’re going to be the richest sons-of-bitches in the Black Hills.”

  “We were the richest sons-of-bitches when we arrived here,” Mitch grumbled.

  “Exactly.” Stuart shook his head, trying to hold in a laugh. “So quit your bitchin’, little brother. It’s all gravy from here on in.”

  Mitch tossed a glance over his shoulder. “And if someone kills us in the meantime?”

  “They’ll have to get through both of us. But look on the bright side. If they do, they’ll have to pay for the equipment and the men to get the gold out of the hill. Not to mention Ty’s hefty percentage. His telegram said he’d gone insane and fallen in love. I feel another percentage point coming on.”

  “If we give him much more, he’ll be a full partner,” Mitch said. “Another partner is the last thing I want.”

  “You’re a greedy bastard, you know that?” Stuart laughed.

  “That’s what gold does to ya.”

  “Here’s an idea. Stop thinking about the gold for one day. Just one day.” Stuart paused, waiting for a response, but knew his brother better than to expect one. He smirked as he prepared for Mitch’s reaction. “I dare you.”

  Mitch dropped his head toward his chest and groaned. “Don’t.”

  “Can’t do it, can you?”

  “Damn it, Stu. Yes. I can do it.”

  Stuart laughed. “We’ll see about that.”

  “Bastard.”

  * * * *

  Wiping her sleeve across her sweaty forehead, Cinda hunkered down in the stream.

  “I swear to God I must be the luckiest person alive.”

  After working all morning, she had already found seven gold nuggets, each one larger than the last. At this rate, she could be queen of the Dakota Territory. It crossed her mind that whoever had originally staked this claim must be the dumbest ox ever to cross the Mississippi or blind as a goddamned bat. Gold had literally jumped into her hands, and she hadn’t even touched the equipment leaning against the cabin. Who needed to pan for dust when nuggets littered the water like pretty, shining pebbles?

  With the thought of food on her mind and gold in her pockets, she practically skipped through the stream on her way back to the cabin for some lunch, singing a couple songs her grandma had taught her. The future danced through her head, each of the visions more vivid than the last. Besides finding Miranda, Cinda hadn’t yet decided where she’d go or what she’d do, but she had a hankering to see a big city. They’d passed through several towns on their travels west, but only because her stepfather couldn’t find his way to the outhouse without a guide. The towns had been exciting but surely bigger cities existed, filled with people and stores and horses. Oh, yes, she definitely wanted a horse. She never understood why her stepfather refused to let her ride them, but giving Cinda joy had never been one of the things on Thomas Wilson’s list of priorities.

  Yes, a horse sounded like a good thing to own. Cinda decided to name her Goldy and laughed at that, but then she hadn’t stopped laughing since her arrival in this lucky stretch of Dakota woods. It felt good to laugh.

  * * * *

  Mitch tossed the sack of coffee through the open door to Stuart then headed round the cabin to get another load of supplies. A sound caught his ear, a sound that had no place in the woods or on their claim. It sounded like a little girl singing. For one moment, his jaw clenched as he wondered how in fuck a child had gotten this far out of Deadwood and become lost on their claim. The last thing he wanted to do was saddle up and head back to town, especially to deliver a package that shouldn’t have arrived in the first place.

  He cocked his head and listened, and it struck him odd that a lost child would sing. Besides, whoever sang this song sounded happy. Her lilting voice—pleasantly melodic, loud and filled with energy—held excitement, like she hadn’t a care in the world. Not many people in this stretch of the Dakotas felt that way, so this girl, whoever she was, seemed to be one in a million.

  “What the fuck? It can’t be real.”

  When he heard laughter spill up the embankment, he reached over to where he’d propped his rifle against the cottage wall. “Be back in a minute.”

  “Now what?” Stuart said. “That imagination of yours working overtime again?”

  “It’s probably nothing, but better safe than dead.” He headed toward the stream.

  At the bank, he trained the sight on the edge of the tiny hill. He waited, wondering why he felt the need to scare the piss out of the interloper, but with so much gold on the line and claim jumpers running rampant through the hills stealing people blind, no one could be careful enough. He’d known more than one miner who’d lost the profits of his hard work because he’d lost his focus. A couple had even lost their lives. The area around Deadwood had turned into a powder keg of violence, and no matter how complacent Stuart sometimes got, Mitch was determined nothing would happen to the Dare claim.

  When a head of golden curls popped up over the rise, he adjusted his aim. He wasn’t expecting the face or the body that followed and damn near swallowed the tobacco in his mouth. He choked then turned, spitting the tobacco out before he embarrassed himself by falling down dead in front of her.

  The trespasser wasn’t a little girl at all. She was all woman, young to be sure, but definitely not an age that might bring trouble into the Black Hills or get him strung up the next time he went into Deadwood. The city might be a lawless place, but there were some things a man couldn’t usually get away with no matter who turned a blind eye. Lucky for him, this little filly looked like she wouldn’t land him in jail. She also looked like she’d had a bit of trouble somewhere along the line. A crimson welt marred the skin of her forehead, and a dark bruise shadowed her cheek.

  Her hair, though, was perfect. It blazed golden in the streams of sunlight that shimmered through the forest canopy. A beautiful spiral of shining curls spilled over her shoulder, soft, silky-looking strands that he wanted to touch. He hadn’t seen hair that looked like spun gold since they’d left San Francisco.

  The young woman climbed lithely up the bank like she’d done it thousands of times, and he had to stifle a laugh as he studied the soft curves of her body encased in the most god-awful clothes he’d ever seen. He managed to keep the shock off his face when he recognized them as his. They looked darn cute on her, but he couldn’t assess the true nature of her body swaddled in all that cloth, and he sure wanted to see it. He also wanted to know why the hell she wore them in the first place.

  When she glanced up, her bright blue eyes widened with surprise. Her laughter died as her pretty pink lips closed with a snap. She froze like a deer does at the snap of a twig.

  Jesus, she’s a beauty.

  Her lips parted wide enough to whisper, “Holy shit.”

  “Understatement of the year,” Mitch said. “What the fuck are you doing in my woods?”

  * * * *

  The laughter and fun literally leapt from her body. Somehow she just couldn’t manage to hold on to those good thoughts and laugh staring into the barrel of a gun. Shock surged in to fill the void to be replaced quickly by suspicion. The first thought that flickered in her mind was Holy hell, that’s a big gun, followed by Touch my gold, stranger, and you’re a dead man.

  Considering she had no firearm, and this man did, it seemed a rather hollow threat even in her own mind. Yet, at the same time, she also knew she wasn’t going to hand over the treasure without a fight. She had plans for it. She wasn’t greedy, but damn, she’d earned it, and she wanted to keep it. Somewhere out there, Miranda might need help, and a horse named Goldy waited to be claimed. Cinda had no intention of disappointing either.

  The third thought that flickered in her mind was, God Almighty, he’s a fine looking man. Cinda wondered at herself sometimes. Having several disparate thoughts almost simultaneously might have seemed odd to some,
but to Cinda it felt completely normal because her mind swirled with so many thoughts she couldn’t keep them straight. Some days it felt like being caught in an avalanche. She’d never been in an avalanche but had heard stories about them in Colorado, and that’s how her mind felt—mounds of snow, sheets of ice and drifts of fresh powder all tumbling together, rolling straight toward her and burying her deep. Standing face to face with this stranger, she felt suddenly like she’d been buried alive without a shovel. She was in over her head, and she could barely draw a breath. He might be a fine looking man, but a snake was a snake, and if he proved to be a serpent, she’d deal with him.

  She stared at him, and he stared at her. His appreciation showed in his eyes as he raked a heated glance over her. She knew what he saw. Under the dirt and grime, she had a pleasing face and pretty eyes. Her mama had once said that she had eyes the color of cornflowers. The tone of her voice had made Cinda believe that was a good thing. It might have been the nicest thing Marion Parks ever said to her daughter. Of course, that had been when Cinda was a little girl, before her real daddy had died and her mother had become Marion Wilson. After that, she’d turned into a different woman.

  Even though her hair felt sweaty and strands had fallen down around her face, Cinda knew her hair was a nice shade of yellow and it looked kind of soft and silky. She also knew damn well she had a nice shape. Every man she’d ever met had told her that. That shape might be hard to see under the clothes she wore, but this stranger looked like a man with a decent imagination, and the way his gaze lingered on her breasts proved it.

  Fine looking wasn’t quite the right description for him. He looked like sin. Hot, sensual sin. Not that she’d been overly familiar with sin, but he sure seemed to fit the bill. His large body encased in flannel and rough denim looked like it had been carved out of granite. Smooth muscles flexed beneath the fabric in both his arms and legs as though irritated to be confined, and his chest muscles strained against his shirt. Black hair curled under the brim of his hat and down around his neck. His eyes blazed with the power of a hard, perfect emerald. Cinda had seen a real emerald once in a shop window. It had been the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen until she’d found her gold.

  While Cinda studied his face and appreciated his looks, she thought about the nuggets hidden in her chemise and those wrapped in more flannel in her pockets. Her hands itched to slide inside and hold them, but doing so might draw his suspicion and also might make him pull the trigger. She had better plans for today than ending up dead.

  “Jesus Christ!”

  Cinda flinched at the shout that came from the cabin. Running into a gun barrel should have made her skittish, but so far she’d kept her composure. Hearing that shout almost stole her nerve. She glanced toward the cabin and saw no one, but now she knew there were at least two of them. The man holding the gun didn’t seem worried about the other man, because the rifle never wavered. Cinda turned her attention back to him and decided she needed to get a few things straight.

  She lifted her chin and tried to put on her haughtiest look, the one Thomas said made him want to smack her. Dealing with Thomas Wilson had perfected that look. “Who are you and what are you doing on my claim?”

  The man barked some sort of laugh. Inside the cabin, something fell, or maybe it had been thrown. It was hard to tell, but Cinda curled her hands because having someone destroy her place irritated the hell out of her. She’d spent a lot of time cleaning it up. She took a step forward, and the gun poked toward her a couple more inches, not really threatening, just enough to remind Cinda he had a weapon and she didn’t.

  Which wasn’t exactly true, but she didn’t plan to tell him that. Another shout came from the cabin—“Goddamn it!”—followed by a crash.

  She clenched her jaw and ground out, “Your friend better not be breaking my things.”

  The man’s brow rose and another one of those laughs exploded from him. “Your things?”

  “Yes, my things.”

  She stood straighter. She wasn’t all that tall, but her stepdaddy always said she was way too arrogant for her own good and apparently too big for her britches. Cinda took that to mean she came across as bigger than she was, so she used that to her advantage now. Though she barely reached the man’s shoulder, she figured she could bully him away. It had worked with others when she and Miranda had trouble at school. Of course, none of them had been this big, and they had been a lot younger. She gulped then narrowed her eyes, forcing a firm look on her face while trying to ignore the fluttering of her heart.

  “Get off my property,” she snarled.

  “Well, aren’t you a feisty little thing?” the man said in a slow, even drawl.

  “You have no idea. Get that goddamn gun out of my face and get off my claim.”

  He smiled, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. Cinda knew a friendly smile when she saw one, and this didn’t come close.

  “I don’t think so, pretty lady.” He glanced at her clothes and frowned. “You are a lady, aren’t you? Kind of hard to tell under all that dirt.”

  “Rude and dumb. How did I get so lucky?”

  He lowered the gun, reached out and skimmed the length of hair across her shoulder. “I’m kind of wondering how I got so lucky.”

  She jerked backwards, nearly tripping down the hill. She teetered for a second then he grabbed her arm and yanked her back. Cinda smashed into his chest, and that’s when she realized she was in bigger trouble than she’d thought.

  She’d never willingly been this close to a man before. Oh, she wasn’t a virgin. She could pretend she was, because losing it hadn’t exactly been her choice, but once something’s gone, it’s just plain gone. The man who took her virginity hadn’t hurt her over much, which she’d been grateful for, though she doubted her stepfather would have cared. She’d been given to a friend of his in exchange for a loan.

  Barney Dent was nice enough and tried to be gentle. In fact, Cinda thought Barney felt a little bad about the whole thing, but not enough to turn down the offer. He thought she was pretty, had a nice way about her and said she could make a fortune in town. He even offered to help set her up in Deadwood with one of the saloon owners. Well, as great as all that sounded to him, Cinda decided it wouldn’t be her first choice and told him no. Unlike Barney, she had no problem with the word no, for all the good it did her. Luckily for her, Barney had been married, or she’d be living in Sturgis with a passel of kids by now.

  That day she’d lost her virginity hadn’t been the best day of her life, but it hadn’t been the worst, either. She figured that said a hell of a lot about her life.

  This stranger looked as though he’d never take no for an answer, and she wondered if she could even get the word past her lips. He made her heart pound, and not out of fear. She had begun to think maybe she wanted to touch him a little, just to see what a real man felt like, one of her choosing, and not someone who was getting repaid for a loan.

  He tightened his grip on her arm, and his heart thumped a nice steady beat she felt through the fabric of their shirts. It made her fluttering heartbeat seem like a hummingbird’s. She stood eye level to his chest and stared at his flannel shirt for a minute, admiring how clean it was and thinking the dark green color matched his eyes rather nicely. Given the circumstances, it was a stupid thought, but it was there just the same. She should have struggled, maybe even screamed, but she figured it would draw the other man out of the cabin, and she had enough trouble on her hands with one man. She didn’t need two hunks of trouble right now.

  Cinda sniffed at him. He smelled a little musky, like a man, but oh so much better than any man she’d ever known. He definitely smelled nicer than Barney Dent, who had reeked of some kind of fancy cologne to mask the sweat. She appreciated the effort at the time, but the scent of cologne now gave her a queasy stomach and made her dizzy. This stranger smelled slightly sweaty, but it reminded her of hard work and noble pursuits. She had no basis for thinking thoughts like that, and she shook her
head at her own stupidity. She didn’t know the man from Adam, and for all she knew, he’d just killed someone and stolen their gold. But the smell of him made her privates ache a tiny bit. She had no idea why.

  He held the rifle loosely at his side. It dawned on her that she could maybe get a hand on it, but she didn’t make a move for it. She thought maybe her aching privates had something to do with that.

  When he spoke, she raised her head, craning her neck backwards to see his face. She almost felt his words before he said them. She imagined her pieces of gold shuddering against one another as they nestled farther into her cleavage. The rumble started in his chest, and it vibrated through her.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  She clenched her mouth closed. Giving this man any information seemed as bad as giving him more ammunition.

  One of his eyebrows lifted. “Too tough a question? Let’s start with the easy ones then. What’s your name?”

  She figured there probably wasn’t harm in saying her name. It’s not like she was important or anything. No one would ever be writing a ransom note with her name on it. “Lucinda Parks, but—”

  “Well, Lucinda—”

  She shuddered. “Don’t call me that. I hate it. Call me Cinda.”

  “Well, Cinda, how did you get here?”

  She clenched her jaw again, thinking how stupid she’d been. Everyone knew if a dog got tossed a scrap, he’d want more. She smiled sweetly, trying not to spit at him. “I’ve got two legs, don’t I?”

  He cocked his head. “Oh, aren’t you the funny one? So you were out on a walk and just happened to stroll through these woods?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Hmm.” He studied her for a minute, his gaze touching for a moment on her forehead. Just when she thought he might let her go, his hand tightened on her, and his voice rumbled again. The tone scared the bejesus out of her. “Who do you work for?”

  She jerked her arm, trying to shake off his hand. “I don’t work for anyone and don’t intend to. No one controls me, including you. Now let me go.”

 

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