Mountain Angel

by Patricia McAllister

  He seemed to consider her ire a compliment. “There are few places where the almighty dollar doesn’t reach.”

  Angel sighed. “What would it cost me to be left alone?”

  “How amusing, my dear.”

  “I’m completely serious.” She turned a candid gaze on him as a wild idea dawned. “You’re a gambling man, Craddock. You drove my father to deliberate ruin. You are obviously clever.”

  He preened, either not sensing or ignoring the sarcasm behind her words. “Well, it’s not my fault McCloud was a poor card player.”

  “Indeed,” Angel murmured. She watched him closely beneath lowered lashes. “What would you say to one last game of five-card stud?”

  He looked surprised. “With whom?”

  “Me, of course.”

  Craddock laughed so hard he wheezed. “You? But you’re a woman.”

  “Thank you for noticing, Will.” She deliberately used his nickname in a seductive manner. Craddock gaped at her.

  “But,” he sputtered, waving his arms about, “ladies don’t draw poker.”

  Angel tossed her head. “I wasn’t under the impression you wanted a lady to warm your bed.”

  He stared long and hard at her, but she saw definite interest blossoming in his beady little eyes.

  “What are the stakes?” he asked.

  “Let’s keep it simple. Your word as a gentleman — and on the Craddock family honor — you’ll leave me alone for good if I win. Plus deed me back Belle Montagne.”

  Craddock considered. He didn’t really want the place; it was merely a means to entice Angel back to Missouri.

  “And what do I get?” he asked.

  This was the hard part. Angel swallowed, realizing she would be bound to keep her word. “You get me,” she said.

  “Deal.” Craddock stuck out his fleshy hand, his big belly shaking with laughter. This was not only going to be easy, he thought — it was going to be damn fun, too.

  EVEN THE OLD-TIMERS hadn’t seen such a crowd at Pikes Peak Saloon since the first gold rush. Word spread around the gambling district that a young lady was willing to bet her body in exchange for a hunk of ground back east. It was not only unheard of but exciting enough to draw the attention of folks from every walk of life.

  Outside the saloon, the Oro City stagecoach sat ready and empty, well paid by Craddock to change their schedule. He didn’t believe for a minute Angel would win, but nobody could accuse him of not being a good sport. Craddock sat awaiting the young woman he’d lusted after for three years and discreetly wiped the saliva from the corners of his mouth with a handkerchief his first wife, Edna, had embroidered with his initials.

  Angel walked in and took her place amid the raucous crowd of betting men. She’d undone her tightly plaited hair to massage her aching temples, and her golden hair rippled over her shoulders and back nearly to her waist. There wasn’t a man there who wouldn’t have given his eyeteeth to be in Will Craddock’s place once they saw the flesh-and-blood stakes sit down across from him.

  Watching from the bar, Holt almost inhaled his whiskey. He coughed and choked, but nobody noticed except the bartender, who obligingly gave him a hard slap on the back.

  “Right nice looker, ain’t she?” the barkeep agreed.

  Holt couldn’t believe his eyes. Angel — his Angel — was sitting down at a poker table, rolling up her sleeves and briskly shuffling a deck of cards. What's more, she obviously knew what she was doing.

  She looked up once, and Holt could have sworn she stared right at him. But the blue eyes didn’t betray so much as a flicker of recognition before she turned away and slapped down the deck in front of Craddock.

  “Your cut, Will,” she said, folding her hands beneath her chin and propping her elbows on the table to watch.

  Craddock picked up the deck, eyed it a little suspiciously, shuffled it again for good measure, and then cut the cards. It was agreed a third party would deal the hand to make it fair.

  The first cards were dealt facedown. The rest would be revealed after the bets were placed. Tallies were taken and money exchanged hands in a flurry, everyone agreeing the young lady wouldn’t stand a chance. That included Holt.

  He asked the bartender in a strangled voice, “What the hell is going on?”

  The barkeep laughed and shook his head. “That sweet thing done bet ol’ Craddock he can’t beat her at five-card stud. She bet herself against some ol’ house she wants. Yessir, Craddock’ll be a lucky coot tonight.”

  Holt stiffened. What on earth was Angel doing, gambling with her life? The little fool had no more sense than a chicken. He left the bar and pushed his way through the knot of yelling, cheering men as Angel and Craddock revealed their first cards. His was a queen, hers a seven. Those who had bet on Angel groaned.

  “Buck up, girlie,” one old-timer hollered. “T’ain’t over yet.”

  “Oh yes, it is,” Holt growled, squeezing through to the table, where he slapped down a hand over Angel’s before she turned over her next card. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

  Her frosty blue gaze rose and met his without wavering. Her eyebrows raised. “What difference does it make to you, Holt Murphy?”

  “You don’t know the first thing about poker.”

  She smiled cynically. “Don’t I? I watched my father enough when I was growing up. I think I can muddle through.”

  “Dammit, woman, you’re playing with fire.”

  “But it’s my choice, isn’t it? I’ve no husband to tell me otherwise.” Her smooth words mocked him. So, too, did the disappointed men all around them.

  “C’mon, son, let ’em play.”

  “Get outta the way, feller.”

  Rough male hands literally removed Holt from the arena. He thought about grabbing her anyway and dragging her out of the saloon but decided it wasn’t worth it. Angel wasn’t worth it, he told himself. He pretended to ignore the hoots of derision and cackles of glee when the next round gave Craddock an ace and Angel a six.

  Angel wasn’t as calm as she appeared. Her mouth was cotton dry and her ears roared with the blood pounding in her head. Holt’s appearance had thrown her for a moment. She stared down at her measly six and seven and said a quick little prayer.

  Craddock was grinning ear to ear. “Not long now, darlin’,” he breathed, and everyone leaned back as the strong smell of onions wafted across the table.

  Angel glanced past Craddock to Holt’s lean, taut figure, poised against the bar. His arms were folded, his expression fixed. What did he care if she sold herself to an old lecher? He didn’t seem to have any use for her himself.

  Everyone held their breath, due as much to Craddock’s foul odor as the flip of the next card. A ragged cheer arose from Angel’s loyal handful of supporters. She had a pair of sevens now. They quickly quieted, though. Craddock still had a queen, and now another ace.

  “Pretty bird, why put yourself through this?” Craddock gloated as he leaned across to Angel, unsuccessfully trying to grab her hand. “I can promise you your cage will be a nice one.”

  Angel answered by turning over her fourth card: another six. Two pair. She smiled. Craddock started to sweat, mopping his streaming brow as he stared down at the card before him.

  A sigh left him with a huge whoosh. Another queen.

  “Royalty,” he said. “We’ll live like royalty, m’dear.”

  “In a pig’s eye,” Angel said. Her hand shook as she reached for the last card. Her gaze rose and drifted to Holt. He stared at her unsmiling across the smoky saloon.

  Craddock noisily licked his lips, bringing her attention back to the table. “Go ahead; ladies first,” he goaded her.

  Slowly, Angel turned over the last card. She slapped it down under Craddock’s nose and rose from the table with dignity.

  “Full house, gentlemen.”

  The saloon erupted. Craddock purpled. “Sit down,” he bellowed. “It isn’t over yet.”

  He cast a contemptuous glance at her
motley array of three sevens and sixes as he fingered his last card. He moved his arm slightly as he flipped it over.

  “Well, well,” he announced, “it seems I have a full house also. Only my house now includes the desirable young woman sitting across from me.”

  Angel whirled back around as the surge of congratulations died. She stared in horror at the third ace on the table. “No,” she cried, and the saloon went silent.

  Craddock’s chair scraped backwards as he rose heavily and held out his fleshy hand to her. “Be a good sport, my dear. You’ve had your fun.”

  “No, it can’t be,” Angel whispered, her shock-filled eyes still fixed on the table.

  “Come along. The eastbound train is waiting.”

  “It’ll wait a little longer,” a third voice drawled.

  Craddock flicked a dismissive glance at Holt. “This doesn’t concern you, boy.”

  “Afraid it does, mister.” Holt pushed off from the bar and strolled slowly toward the older man. “See, it concerns me whenever I see a worthless old lecher taking advantage of a sweet and innocent thing like Miss Angel here.”

  Craddock’s lip curled. He snorted. “Sweet? Innocent? She’s hardly in either class anymore, after living with a ’breed like you.”

  Holt halted barely a foot away from the other man. His gray eyes were hard as flint. “I also take exception to a man who wears long sleeves during a game of cards,” he said.

  He saw a brief flash of panic light the old man’s eyes. “You’re babbling nonsense, boy. Get out of my way.”

  Craddock moved, but Holt cut him off, grabbing the older man by the lapels to hold him fast.

  “Then I’m sure you won’t have any objections to patting you down,” he gritted out, and gave Craddock a good hard shake. A fistful of cards tumbled out from the old man’s jacket, and there was an audible gasp across the room.

  All were aces. Angel knelt and picked one up, bending it in half as she stared at Craddock.

  “You did the same thing to my father, didn’t you?” Her voice shook as it rose to a scream, and she hurled the card at him. “Didn’t you?” It bounced off his waistcoat and fell to the floor. “You cheated him, and because of what you did he killed himself.”

  Craddock snarled back, “I didn’t have to cheat. Royce McCloud was a worthless bum, a drunken sot. If he couldn’t hold on to his land or his daughter any better than he played cards, then he deserved to lose both to me.”

  “Shut up,” Holt ordered the man, shaking him by the collar until Craddock was bright red and wheezing. With a disgusted noise, Holt threw Craddock back against the wall. He didn’t need to do anything else. The angry crowd mobbed Craddock of its own accord as Holt followed Angel out of the saloon.

  Tears spurted down her cheeks as she hurried down the boardwalk. Fiercely, she wiped them away.

  Holt caught up to her, grabbing her hands in his and pulling her around to face him. The tears sparkled on her cheeks like diamonds in the sunlight.

  “The old man’s a liar,” he said.

  “No, Holt, I am. I lied to myself all those years. I helped my father live a lie.” She looked up at him with weepy eyes that tore at his soul. “I knew Royce drank. I knew he gambled. I didn’t try hard enough to stop him.”

  He enfolded her in his arms. “It wasn’t your place to stop him. You were just a child.”

  “B-but I could have t-tried h-harder,” she whispered, closing her eyes as fresh tears slipped down her cheeks. “I hid the bottles sometimes, and slipped him a dose of laudanum from time to time to keep him home, but it never worked long enough to make a difference. After a while I stopped trying. Maybe if I’d kept up, I could have protected him from Craddock.”

  “Your father was a grown man, Angel. He made his choice. I know it hurts, but you can’t take responsibility for someone else’s life, no matter who they are.” Tenderly, Holt stroked her shining golden head until she released a low, shuddering sigh.

  “I know you’re right. But I can’t stop thinking about Belle Montagne. “

  “It’s yours now, Angel. We’ve got fifty witnesses if Craddock tries to back out on his word. You can go home now,” he said. She looked up at him with surprise when she heard the quiet pain in his voice.

  “I’m not going,” she whispered.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. That house is everything you’ve wanted. All you’ve lived for and talked about since I met you.”

  “Exactly,” Angel said. “That ‘house,’ Holt. It’s nothing more. It’s been stripped of furniture, decoration, even its dignity. I’ve no funds to set it up properly. I still have to wait for our mine to produce.”

  He hesitated, as if debating the truth of her words, then bluntly corrected her. “Your mine.”

  Angel shook her head with exasperation. “Holt, listen to me. I need you. You know about mining; I don’t. Nothing will be accomplished if we continue to fight like cats and dogs over a legal technicality. Don’t deny you still want to work the mine.”

  “All right, I want to. But you’d better realize, Angel, it may never produce. If we don’t strike it rich by spring, we probably won’t find anything at all. I’ve exhausted most of the tunnels.”

  She nodded, accepting the risk. “I don’t have anything to lose.”

  He gave her a wry grin. “The only thing you’re gaining is a penniless partner.”

  “I meant what I said earlier, Holt. I still consider you half-owner of the mine. I don’t want things to change now. Besides, I know next to nothing about mining.”

  “I won’t dispute it. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone as determined as you.”

  “It’s a McCloud trait, I’m afraid.” A hint of a smile curved her lips for the first time, and she added, “It’s every bit as maddening as Murphy pride.”

  “I’m sorry I lost my temper earlier, Angel. I said things I shouldn’t have,” Holt admitted. “But our time apart gave me time to think.

  “I also made arrangements for Jean-Claude. He regained consciousness for a short time when I visited him today. I explained what happened, and he was grateful to us both. The doctor said Jean-Claude’s head injury is healing well. He’ll be able to rejoin his family when he’s fully recovered.”

  “I’m glad. But does he have enough money to pay the doctor bills?”

  Holt nodded. “Actually, I used the last of my own money to take care of him. Jean-Claude said he’d pay me back, and I think his word is good. I said he could contact me at the mine. Maybe a little presumptuous of me.”

  Angel smiled and touched his smooth-shaven chin. “No, it wasn’t. You belong there, and so do I. I want you to take me home now, Holt.”

  He hesitated. “Sure that’s what you want?”

  “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  ANGEL SLEPT ALL THE way back to Oro, and the worst bumps and jolts of the stage didn’t cause her to stir. She awoke yawning when Holt opened the door and hopped down to give her a hand.

  She eyed the three feet of snow awaiting her with surprise. “My goodness. It looks like winter beat us back.”

  “It does, doesn’t it?” Holt agreed as he helped her down. “Watch your step; it’s slippery here.”

  She steadied herself on his arm and looked up as a couple moved forward to greet them.

  “Rachel. Neal. What a nice surprise.” Angel was genuinely surprised to see the minister there with Rachel on his arm, but the warm glow on Rachel’s cheeks told a story of its own.

  “We heard the stage was coming in, and I had a feeling you’d be on it,” Rachel said as she returned Angel’s quick hug. “Gracious, you look exhausted.”

  “I am,” Angel admitted, then caught sight of Neal and Holt exchanging their usual wary looks. She stepped between the two men. “Maybe I need Aunt Clara’s nerve tonic,” she said gaily as she turned to face Rachel again.

  Rachel laughed. “I daresay we’ll get a bottle at our wedding.”

  “Wedding?” Angel understood Rachel’s pink ch
eeks and the merry secret in her eyes. “Oh, my goodness. You’re engaged?”

  Rachel drew her left hand from the fur muff and thrust it out to be admired. “Do you like the ring? Neal says I look good in gold.”

  “It’s beautiful, Rachel. Congratulations, both of you.” Angel glanced at the man beside her. “Here we’ve been gone a short time and look what’s happened. Isn’t it amazing, Holt?”

  “Amazing,” he agreed dryly, putting a different emphasis entirely on the word.

  Angel changed the subject. “Tell me everything,” she ordered Rachel, linking arms with the other woman as they moved down the street toward the parsonage. “I want you to fill me in on all the gossip.”

  Rachel delightedly complied. She told Angel about the latest social, the latest scandals, and the mysterious recent appearance of Sheriff Garrett out of nowhere, with frostbite on various parts of his body.

  “He wouldn’t tell anyone what happened,” Rachel said, “and Mrs. Garrett took after him with a frying pan.”

  Angel choked down a laugh. “Whatever for?”

  “Justine was sure he’d been fooling around at Valentine’s again, got too drunk, and wandered out in the snow. He’s done it before. She’s always managed to cover it up till now, but this time he walked right down Main Street, howling for Doc to come out and check his crotch.”

  Angel couldn’t restrain a peal of laughter. She chuckled until her sides hurt, and by then they were back at the parsonage. Rachel thought it was funny, too, but couldn’t fully appreciate Angel’s hilarity over the story.

  Angel wiped her streaming eyes and composed herself for the benefit of the two men behind them. Holt and Neal had obviously been having a long discussion, and the topic was serious enough neither one was smiling. She looked back and forth between them and felt a prickle of foreboding at their expressions.

  “There’s been trouble up at the mine again,” Holt said.

  Angel sobered at once. “What sort of trouble?”

  “Couple of U.S. marshals came poking around, asking a lot of questions here and in Clear Creek. They came to the parsonage and quizzed me,” Neal said.