She didn’t want what drove Robert to this to come out. Not here. Not now.
When they got to the train platform, Robert hopped out and helped her down. She caught sight of Bryce striding toward them, and Robert followed her gaze. Bryce came up to them, sighed heavily, and then reached inside his pocket for a thick wad of bills.
Odessa gasped. “Where—” But then she knew. He’d cashed in the gold bar.
“Take it,” he said, holding it out to Robert. “The men will need some of it to get by. Who knows if my paintings will sell as well as you think they will. Then you see to it that they have enough to get to Spain and back with at least a few horses. All right?”
“But Bryce, that was to see you through the winter—”
“Never mind that. Take it. That’s our business, not yours.”
Robert accepted the money, tucking it into his own jacket pocket. “All right, Bryce. I’ll see to it.” He glanced down at Odessa. “The paintings will bring in enough,” he said. “You’ll see.”
Bryce stared at him and then her. Did he suspect something?
“I think I’ll check for telegrams while we’re here,” Odessa said. “Since we’re waiting on the train,” she added. “I’ll be back in a moment.” Without waiting for a response, she climbed down the steep stairs from the platform and hurried off down the block to the small wooden building that served the county telegraph operator.
“Saved us a trip,” the man said, as Odessa walked in the small office. “This just came in for you last night, Mrs. McAllan. And this one, the day before.”
Odessa reached for the telegrams, glad to be away from the stagecoach platform and the tension running between Bryce and Robert. Thinking of them, she shook her head and opened the first telegram. It was sent yesterday from the detective Bryce had hired. “All as normal in Leadville,” was all it said. As did the other two, all dated within the week. Reid was settling in Leadville, beginning a new life, as Bryce had suspected. It seemed a distant concern, considering what was transpiring right before her.
“May I send another telegraph?” she asked the kind man at the counter.
“Certainly. To whom would you like it addressed?”
“This name here,” she said, turning the telegram around. “In Leadville.”
The man nodded. “Go ahead, I know his name and location.”
“Do not let your guard down. He operates in shadows.”
The telegraph operator glanced up at her as if she might want to change that last sentence.
“He’ll know what I mean,” she defended. “Please, send it as I’ve said it.”
“Good enough,” he said, immediately acquiescing. He turned to the telegraph table.
“I’ll return after I see my brother-in-law off on the stage. I’ll pay my bill then.”
“Good enough,” he said, waving her out, already tapping in the message.
She left the building, a small bell ringing above the door with her exit. Robert pushed off the wall where he had been waiting and edged closer, cautiously. “You don’t have to wait until the train arrives, Odessa. You can say good-bye now.”
“Robert,” she said coolly, hoping he didn’t see how his presence unsettled her. “We’ll wait. See you off properly.” She dared to meet his eyes, and he stared back at her intently.
“I made my excuses to Bryce in order to catch a moment with you,” he said. “I want to apologize again—”
“No. We’ve been through it. Now we just have to get past it. It was a weak moment, for both of us. I should’ve never invited you on that ride and—”
“No, Dess. You should’ve been able to invite me without a second thought.” He turned away from her and ran his hand through his hair. His face was awash with pain as he looked over his shoulder at her. “I’m your brother-in-law. You should be able to trust me.” He shook his head as if disgusted with himself.
As angry as she was, Odessa didn’t want him to leave still punishing himself, berating himself for years to come. “It’s over,” she said softly, moving forward to stand beside him at the boardwalk rail. “You’ll return to Maine and find yourself a lovely wife, and we’ll laugh about this when we’re old.”
He glanced at her, a measure of hope in his eyes. “Think so? Someday we’ll laugh about it?”
“My father always said that time gives all things perspective. So yes, I’m confident we will.”
They stood, side by side for a while. Robert cleared his throat and said, “Will you tell Bryce what I did?”
She considered his question for a minute, then said, “I don’t know, Robert. Bryce and I strive to hold few secrets from each other. But this … I do not wish to harm your relationship. And if it never happens again—”
He turned to her and smiled, the hope now wild in his eyes. He shook his head. “It won’t. Never again. I crossed the line. Forevermore, I’ll be the most trustworthy gentleman in the room with you. I don’t wish to risk my relationship with either of you or to not know Samuel as he grows up. Bryce would … And this …” He paused and sighed, staring at her. “Bryce would cut me off from you—from you all—forever. I couldn’t bear that.”
She studied him. “Go home, Robert. Do find yourself a good woman, someone who can give you the love you seek. Have a family. Then this, me, all of it will be behind you.”
He nodded and smiled. “Because of all my time at sea, I’d thought I shouldn’t marry. But maybe you’re right. Maybe a good woman will cure what ails me.”
She smiled back at him. “You’d be surprised.”
He hesitated.
“Robert,” she said, seeing him not as the man who had tried to steal a kiss but rather the man who had taken care of her baby in the depths of night. “Please. I’ve heard your words. Give me some time to remember them in my heart. You have done much good for us here. You’re doing good by us, organizing the auction, seeing the men off on their voyage … it will be all right in time.”
He gave her a half smile, twisted his hat in his hands one more time, and then set it on his head. “Until next time then.”
“Until then,” she said.
Chapter 24
Sheriff Chambers circled around and brought Daniel up short. Both were astride horses. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“After them,” Daniel said. He paused and looked up to the sky. It was after noon; daylight was burning. And he had not one bit of strength to spend on anything but finding Moira.
“Daniel, you’re wounded. Leave this to us.”
“I would, but a promise is a promise.” To Gavin. I’ll protect her. To Moira. You won’t be alone.
“I say, when a man suffers a gunshot wound, he gets a little leeway in fulfilling his promises,” the sheriff said as one of his deputies rode up beside Daniel. Behind him, a snow-covered mountain range met a deep blue sky.
“If I couldn’t move, I’d agree with you, Sheriff,” Daniel allowed. “But as you can see, I’m getting along fine.”
“Fine until you keel over from blood loss. Come now, Daniel, come back to the doctor’s. We’ll set out after Moira Colorado and Bannock at first light.”
“At first light?” Daniel said in disbelief. “Look! We have half the day left. The trail will be cold come morning. We start now or I go it alone.” He studied the sheriff. Did the man think he had imagined it all? Bannock stealing off with Moira? Or had Bannock paid him off, foreseeing a possible chase? Considering her injuries, Moira couldn’t be traveling fast, not if Bannock hoped to keep her alive. “Get out of my way, Sheriff.”
The sheriff swore under his breath. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with, Daniel. I did some checking on Bannock. He goes back with those folks near Westcliffe. He killed one of their ranch hands.” He shook his head. “Not to mention the detective the St. Clairs hired.”
Daniel’s eyes narrowed.
“There’s something big transpiring here, something bigger than us. We need a posse to go after them. Bannock was
seen riding out with three men and Moira. He might be meeting up with more. We’re not going after him—two of us and you, half-baked.”
“I’m going after them now, Sheriff. Now I’ll tell you again. Get out of my way.” His horse shied left, antsy because of the men’s raised voices.
The sheriff shook his head. “I’ve got my hands full here, man. Two dead from the opera house—”
“And a kidnapping victim, three steps farther away every moment we sit here, yammering on!” Daniel cried.
“I’ll get a posse together. We’ll set out in a couple hours.”
“And I’ll be a couple hours ahead of you,” Daniel ground out.
They were again on the move, every step an agonizing experience. Moira was atop a pack mule, which was tethered to Reid’s horse ahead of her. She moaned with each footfall, despite her most fervent desire to keep from it. But when the donkey stumbled a bit and she lurched forward, every nerve ending in her burned body from ankle to scalp erupted in pain, making her cry out.
Reid pulled up and circled around. “Moira, really. Cease your dramatics.”
She stared at him, aghast at his cruelty.
“Or do I need to gag you?”
She shook her head. “Does your hatred run so deep?”
“Deeper than you can imagine,” he said lowly. “You stole my heart. Your sister and brother-in-law stole the O’Toole mine from me. Stole four years of my life. You will all pay for those injustices.”
Moira groaned. Her stomach roiled, and her skin was a throbbing mass of pain. But she had to know what would end this journey, what he was ultimately after. “They can’t give you what they don’t have. The mine is nonexistent.”
“There is something else that has been discovered in the meantime, the true treasure of which Sam spoke. I believe, Moira, that your sister knows the way to a hidden cave full of conquistador gold.”
“You’re mad,” Moira said, shaking her head. “Unwell. You think Odessa would allow a stash of gold to sit out there, ready for anyone to pluck? If they’ve found it, it’s in the Westcliffe Bank.”
A rider came out of the shadows. “Boss, we have to keep moving. They can’t be far behind us.”
“So that is it?” Moira pressed. “Your price to end all this is the deed to the O’Toole mine or the conquistador gold?”
“I’m only interested in the gold now. I can’t remain in the States after I accomplish this. I need portable wealth as payment. Be it gold or cash, the McAllans will pay.”
“But what if they give you neither?”
Reid turned in his saddle to glance at her. “Then they’ll pay me with their lives.”
Nic managed to avoid Alejandro for a while. He decided the captain had seen the tension brewing between the men and purposefully set them on separate shifts, in separate areas of the ship, day and night. Even when he wearily dropped into his hammock at night, Alejandro’s, six nets down, remained empty. He dropped off to sleep, dreaming that Alejandro had fallen overboard and no one thought to look for him. He even began to feel a little sorry for the man, adrift at sea, calling, pleading for help, until the ship faded into the horizon.
But Manuel was more difficult. With the winds at dead calm, the ship was on pure steam power for three days straight. Manuel said nothing to Nic or the other seamen; he only brought in the bins of coal that rode along tracks from the stern hold and dumped them for each digger, grunting a brief greeting to each man. Nic never saw him without a cigar in his mouth; sometimes it was lit, most of the time it wasn’t. He tensed under the bright gaze of the coal boss, expecting another sermon that he could not escape as he worked, but the man remained silent.
Until the fourth day. Nic finished the last of his pile of coal, placed his shovel upon the rack, and went outside. The two others still had half a pile each to shovel into the stove. Manuel followed him out and dropped the half barrel off the side of the ship to haul in some seawater. They stood, side by side, at the edge, watching it drag a moment. “You think about what I said to you?” Manuel asked him.
“About California?” Nic said, feigning forgetfulness.
“About God.”
“Oh, yes. I thought about it.”
“Good, good.” Manuel moved the cigar to the other side of his mouth and hauled up the barrel from the ocean. He was burly, and the barrel swung on its rope above them within a minute. Manuel stopped its swing as Nic positioned himself under it. He was shirtless, but he kept his pants on—it was the only opportunity to get them somewhat clean—but he didn’t know why he bothered; the coal dust seemed to stick to everything.
“It doesn’t matter what you’ve done, Dominic. God can wash you clean.”
Before Nic could respond, the coal boss dumped the cold water over his head, a steady rush of water that drenched him from head to toe. Nic sputtered and rubbed his eyes. He grimaced at the coal boss. “What if I don’t want Him to?”
Manuel shrugged, and his eyes sparkled with a held-back smile. “Then He won’t. He waits for us to ask it of Him.” He pulled the cigar out of his mouth and gestured toward Nic with it. “But mark my words, God will chase you until the end of your life. Better to give in to Him sooner than later. Until then, you will have no rest.”
He moved over to the freshwater barrels and dipped a smaller bucket into it. Nic took a coal-darkened cake of soap from a ledge and quickly lathered his hair and torso and arms with it. He doubted his fingernails would ever have a merchant’s look about them again, between his fighting and sailing and now digging in the black. He refused to meet Manuel’s gaze, not wishing the man to see it as an invitation for further conversation.
But Manuel paused beside him, holding the bucket of water at shoulder height. “Why do you resist Him, Dominic?”
Nic let out a scoffing laugh. “You mean God?”
“Yes, I mean God.”
“I’ll tell you why,” he spit out, pointing a threatening finger at Manuel. Manuel seemed unperturbed. “Your God took my little brothers, one at a time. He let them suffocate from the consumption. Four of them,” he said, shaking four of his fingers in the man’s face. “Four. They were young, innocent. My youngest brother … he was three! What kind of God allows that?”
Manuel’s face grew grim. “A God who wept beside you. A God who does not like death, and gave His own Son so that we might know life forever.”
Nic let out another scoffing sound. “And was it that God that took my mother in childbirth? And the baby my mother carried? Don’t tell me your God isn’t about death.”
Manuel let the bucket drop a little. He looked so sad that Nic was suddenly alarmed that he might cry. It made him want to hit the man, strike him. Nic wanted nothing to do with sorrow, especially on his behalf. He waved at the bucket with a shaking hand. “Get on with it,” he snapped.
The coal boss let the fresh water flow, but Nic didn’t bother to wash off most of the harsh soap sticking to his skin and scalp. He only wanted to be away from Manuel. To escape. He quickly rubbed his eyes and cheeks, then let the water rinse them before moving over to his shirt, which hung on a peg beside the entrance to the steam room even as the last drops ran over his head.
“Dominic, ever since the fall, man has known numerous woes. We no longer live with the perfections of Eden.”
Nic laughed, sardonically. “Don’t I know it.” And with that, he left the coal boss’s side, buttoning his shirt as he walked, his back tense with the urge to go back and pound Manuel until he stopped smiling as if he knew something everyone else did not.
It was unfortunate that as he was striding away, Alejandro passed by on his way to take his own shift in the steam room. He whispered an epithet in Spanish. Nic turned and roared. He tackled the wide-eyed man, who clearly never expected the attack. He went down, hard, with Nic on top of him, his face scraping along the deck’s planks. Nic sat up and pounded at his face from behind, reaching around to hit each cheek, as the man tried to throw him off.
He didn’t succe
ed, but a strong man lifted Nic away before his fury was fully spent. He writhed, almost freeing his right arm, but the man stubbornly clung to him. Manuel came over and assisted Alejandro to his feet, then helped him over to a bucket of salt water to clean the cut on his left cheek. Manuel’s eyes, full of dread now, ran over Nic. The captain approached and Nic tried his best to calm himself.
The captain, about his father’s age had he been alive, stood eye to eye with him. He stood there for a full minute, glaring at Nic. Nic wanted to glare back in defiance, but he knew that they had not even reached Mexico’s Baja Peninsula. He needed to stay on this ship. A crowd gathered. He glared at them instead.
“You remember our agreement?” the captain said.
Nic remembered it. A paper that stated he would not drink or brawl while aboard ship. On shore was his choice. He dared to look the captain in the eye and nod.
“You signed your name, showing you have some education. A smart man,” the captain said. “Not like most of these who signed their names with an X,” he added, waving about them. He stepped forward and tapped Nic on the chest. The men who held him gripped tighter. “For a smart man, you are very stupid.”
Manuel arrived at the captain’s side and whispered for a moment in his ear. Nic could not bear the humiliation of what the man might be saying, that he might be trying to aid him. He wanted to owe the man nothing.
Manuel moved away, disappearing behind the wall of sailors. The captain stared at Nic for a moment longer and then looked over the starboard edge of the ship “We are too far from the coast to throw you overboard. It would be more humane to put a gun to your head. So instead, you will receive thirty lashes. Five from Alejandro, whom you attacked.”
“Wait a minute. That man—”
“Ten from Alejandro,” amended the captain evenly. “And once it is done, you shall remain tied to the mast until daybreak.”
Nic clamped his mouth shut.
The captain edged closer again. “You are about to learn a painful lesson, Dominic St. Clair. You should have remembered your contract.” He turned to the men who held him. “Strip his shirt and tie him to the mast. You,” he said, lifting his chin toward another, “fetch my whip from the cabin.”
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