The Outlaw's Kiss (an Old West Romance) (Wild West Brides)

by Karin, Anya

  “No,” I said. “He went back to courthouse and turned himself in. You two missed all that excitement by being hard at work.”

  As soon as it was mentioned, it was gone. I was glad that talk didn’t linger on Eli, for fear I’d break down into a mess.

  “Clara,” father reached for my hand. “I promised your mother that I’d take care of you. I told her that I would keep you safe and happy and here we are. I’ve dragged you to a hell-hole in the middle of a forest a thousand miles from civilization. I can’t believe what I’ve done.” He fell silent, cradling his hands in his head. “And now I’m ruined. If this mine doesn’t produce, we’re broke.”

  I stroked the back of his hand. “Everything is fine, father. Everything will work out. It always does. That’s what Eli said, and I trust him.”

  Father grunted a laugh. “Everything works out, huh? Then explain this.” He fluttered his fingers and waved a hand in a half-circle. “We need to get out of here, Clara. We’re strangers in an unfriendly land. We’re pilgrims who’ve wandered into a village of cannibals, and now we need to escape. We need to get back to New York, to what we know.”

  “I don’t want to go back,” I said, interrupting him. “There’s nothing for me there.”

  I squeezed his hand, and he held on tight. “What do you mean you don’t want to go back? What do you mean, Clara?”

  I gulped. “I mean, I’ve found something here that, uh, well. Someone.”

  Mr. Clark cleared his throat. “My claim is busted,” he said. “I can’t make back my investment. There’s gold, but nowhere near enough. For a time, I was convinced that if I went deep enough, I’d find a vein, but there’s nothing. I’m prepared to take your offer to sell it to Swearengen and run your claim.” He plucked his bowler off and sat it on his knee. “Just tell me what I need to do, and it’s done.”

  Father’s eyebrow quirked. “At ten percent? And that ridiculous wagon?”

  “Twelve,” Mr. Clark said, eyes narrowing. “Don’t make me go up to fifteen.”

  A smile spread across my father’s face. He extended his hand. “You’re a life saver, Davis. We’ve got a deal at eleven percent.”

  “Ah! You almost got me, you old serpent.”

  By then, somehow, after that flurry of activity, they were both laughing. “What do we do now?” father asked. “I suppose there’s the business of a contract, and then signing over the title, but that can’t possibly be done here, can it?”

  I pursed my lips. “Didn’t Mr. Star say he also functions as the camp’s notary? Perhaps we could call on him and have the papers drawn up?”

  “So late at night?” Mr. Clark shook his head. “I wouldn’t think of dragging someone out of bed at this hour. The irony, of course, of my saying that isn’t lost on me.”

  “No,” I said. “It has to be tonight. If those men were willing to do this to father out of some desperate need to intimidate him, I hate to think what will happen if their demands continue to go unanswered. Whatever Mr. Swearengen has in mind must be better than just sitting by and idly letting them do as they wish while we wait for Mr. Star to awaken and politely get his attention. And anyway, you’re both friends with him. He won’t mind doing a good turn.” I tapped my fingers impatiently on top of the mantle.

  “Another thing is that U.S. Marshall coming to examine the fire. If Eli’s still in custody when he comes, well, I hate to think what would happen,” I said, sitting down.

  “I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this,” father said. “But here we are. And I’ll be damned if I’m letting you go to the Gem, Clara. Davis and I will take care of this. You stay here where it’s safe.”

  “Father, you’re forgetting something.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Mr. Swearengen told me to come to him if we needed help. He may be generally as trustworthy as a rattlesnake, but he’s very clear when giving orders, or offering assistance. I think it best if I go, at least to introduce you to him formally, no matter what damage you think it may do to my dignity.”

  A dark look passed across my father’s eyes, but he knew that I had the right of things. “Fine,” he said. “But don’t be surprised if I make you shield your eyes in the face of some awful display.”

  I smiled, trying not to laugh. “Yes, of course. I’d hate for my propriety to be offended. Come on,” I urged both men to the door. “The way to the Gem will be relatively safe, owing to the curfew, but I’d rather not be out any more than we have to be, given the danger you’re in.”

  I went first, opening the door and holding it.

  “Savvy girl you’ve got here, Jeffrey,” I heard Mr. Clark say. “I do believe I’d be more afraid of getting on her bad side than I would Swearengen’s, or Rawls’s.”

  Father paused for a moment then slapped his friend on the back, and both of them laughed as we made our way to town.

  *

  To say there was a stench hanging in the air on the bottom floor of The Gem is the greatest sort of understatement. Men lay in pools of their own wet filth, in all sorts of stages of drunkenness. One person, who I vaguely recognized, had made it partway to the second floor of the Gem before pitching over the rail, and apparently going straight to sleep half-standing with his knees buckled.

  A quick glance around the room revealed neither of the women I hoped to see, nor Mr. Swearengen. After dark, when the only thing to do was, apparently, head to this palace of vice, the place I’d only visited during morning lulls had a wild, raving-mad life all its own.

  “Clara? That you?” A familiar voice called from somewhere behind the bar. “Over here!” It was Tammy, I saw, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Both my father and Mr. Clark were trailing behind me. “What’re you doing here? This ain’t a place for decent people.”

  “We need to see Mr. Swearengen,” I said, straining to shout over the noise.

  “Whassat?” She cupped her hand around her ear.

  “Mr. Swearengen,” I shouted. “We need to see him!”

  “Oh, Al, you shoulda said so.” Tammy made a gesture. “Miss Gretchen’s over by the stairs, she’ll take you up.”

  I turned to see Gretchen motioning us over, grabbed father’s hand and dragged him through the writing mass of flesh and humanity, dodging many things I chose not to look too long at before avoiding.

  As soon as we were close enough, Gretchen took my hand, waved to my father and Mr. Clark and ushered us up to Mr. Swearengen’s office. She knocked three times.

  “What is it?” he said, with a voice that dripped with impatience.

  “Visitors here, three of ‘em. You’ll want these.”

  “Christ,” he swore, and took an impatient breath. “Send them in.”

  The door closed behind us with a bang, and suddenly, only a low din of noise could be heard. “It’s quiet in here,” I idly remarked.

  Mr. Swearengen nodded. “That’s the value of a good door seal. Did you bring me a title?” His eyes fell on my father and Mr. Clark. “I suppose I should be asking you instead of the girl.”

  Father stuck his hand out, clutching an off-white sheet of paper. Mr. Swearengen sat back, reclining in his chair and waiting for father to deliver the paper. “Right there is fine,” he said, tapping a space on his desk. Slowly, he unfolded his reading glasses and looked over the page.

  “It’s notarized,” father added after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

  “So I see. How did you get Sol Star to do anything after dark? Normally he’s shacked up with one of my girls and doesn’t remove himself until the sun comes and banishes the night.” He let that hang in the air for a moment. “So that’s it then? It’s mine?”

  “Ah, well, there’s the crass point of a payment,” Mr. Clark said. “Er, sir.”

  Mr. Swearengen slid his tongue over his teeth and took a drink of whiskey from the bottle on his desk. “You paid fifty-six thousand for the claim, yes?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Is that what you paid?”

&n
bsp; He shifted nervously. “Well, yes, that’s right. Fifty-six.”

  “Uh-huh. And it’s not working out, is it? The claim I mean; not as well as,” he paused, fluttering his fingers in father’s direction. “Nowhere near that, is it? He’s got quite a trove under his feet. You’ll be managing his mining operation?”

  “Th – that’s right. And yes, the claim has some gold, but it’s hard to get at, and there’s probably not very much.” Davis clapped his hand over his mouth. I’d never seen him so shaken, but Mr. Swearengen seemed to have that power over people.

  Mr. Swearengen shook his head and massaged his temples with two fingers on either hand. “You didn’t reveal anything I didn’t know already,” he said, sucking a deep breath through his nose. “All right, I’ll pay you twenty.”

  Like a frightened rabbit, Davis Clark stood up. “Twenty? I’ll take no such thing. That claim is worth –”

  “Twenty,” Mr. Swearengen repeated in that cold monotone. “If I plan to resell that land after this place is incorporated, I’ll have to pay twice that to get the holes you’ve put all over it filled before anyone will consider it. It’s worth less than twenty, but I like Clara.”

  “I just, twenty, it’s just so little.” Mr. Clark chewed his bottom lip.

  Father shot Davis a worried glance. “I’ll make it worth your while, Davis,” father said.

  Mr. Clark crossed his legs, steepled his fingers, then uncrossed his legs and tapped his foot. “Okay,” he said, standing abruptly. “Twenty.”

  He extended his hand to shake, which Mr. Swearengen ignored in favor of reaching into his desk and pulling out a sealed envelope which he then handed to me before resuming his seat. Davis’s title went right on top of the pile, sliding partway off the stack, then dangling in the air.

  “What’s this?” I asked as I stuck a finger underneath the seal.

  “Don’t do that. Leave it sealed. It’s a letter, as you can see.”

  “Yes,” I said, “but can’t I read it?”

  “You wanted evidence that your sweet Eli was innocent.” His voice sounded like venom from the lips of a viper. “Well, there you have it.”

  “How did you get this?”

  Mr. Swearengen cocked an eyebrow. “My reach extends past the streets of this backwater camp, Miss James. When people want to find other people, they come to me. In this case, a certain lumpy-headed prospector wanted revenge. His message was obviously delivered to the chief savage, as we saw him storm through town the other night, but his letter was kept right here.” He patted his desk.

  My stomach turned a flip.

  “So this exonerates Eli?”

  His eyes narrowed. “We’re not all so educated as you, no matter how smartly we speak from time to time. If ‘exonerates’ means ‘proves innocent’ then yes, it does. I’ll warn you though; the natives are growing restless. Townspeople, I mean. The natives don’t much care. I’d take that letter to Sheriff Bullock under cover of darkness. Run along little dove,” he said, waving his hands toward the door. “Go and save your not-quite outlaw.”

  Before we were back out into the wild world of the Gem, Mr. Swearengen had resumed reading his newspaper and drinking his whiskey with his bare feet propped up on top of his desk.

  Seventeen

  October 8, 1878 – Early Morning

  Deadwood Outskirts, Dakota Territory

  “This is,” Seth Bullock stared hard at the letter in his hands, searching for words. “I can’t believe this. All of this, me throwing my friend in jail, him making that big scene and turning himself in, is just a farce.”

  “You knew it was, Seth, you told me as much.”

  He shifted back and forth putting a hand in one pocket then changed positions. Father left me off in front of Mr. Bullock’s house where I’d awakened him. At my insistence, father and Mr. Clark agreed to leave me to deliver the message.

  When Seth emerged, he was shirtless, wearing only a pair of thick-heeled boots with dark blue-jeans tucked into them.

  Nodding, he paced along the front porch, one hand on the rail. “I knew it, but never thought I’d be able to prove this was all a frame-up.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Well, there it is. Just like Mr. Swearengen said. And there’s more.”

  I handed him my journal, filled with notes about the Rawls’s plan to kidnap my father, his plot to illegally acquire the claim, and reports of his threatening behavior, along with a list of the injuries my father sustained at his hand. I’d had the good sense to ask Mr. Clark to sign his name as witness to all the claims I made. Silently, I thanked my lucky stars for having the foresight to remove the pages with my doodles.

  “And this is Davis Clark vouching for what you say?” Seth tapped the signature running beside a description of my father’s face.

  “Yes sir, I thought it prudent.”

  Seth grunted and laughed softly. “You’re a rare breed, Clara. I know what he sees in you.”

  At the mention of something so personal, I blushed furiously. There was no point to hiding my embarrassment. “Oh, don’t be like that,” he said. “Eli won’t keep his mouth shut about your virtues and your character and how pretty he thinks your hair to be. In honesty, I wish he didn’t like you quite so much as he does. Would certainly make conversation more varied.”

  Oddly, that was when I first noticed how refreshed Mr. Bullock seemed to be. When last I saw him, he had become a wraith – gaunt and pale. But standing there with him under the moonlight, his skin had resumed its normal hue, his cheeks were fuller; a remarkable change after only a small bit of time.

  “I’m sorry he’s so smitten,” I said softly, looking down at the floor.

  “Oh now there’s a thing to say,” he said with a warm tone. “My friend is happy, Clara. I’ve never seen him so pleased with himself and with his life, and he’s behind damned jail bars!” He laughed again, but his face and voice soon turned grave. “There’s one more order of business though, and I’m afraid it won’t be terribly pleasant.”

  “I don’t care what we have to do,” I said. “It simply doesn’t matter. I’ll do anything in the world to make sure my Eli is safe and sound.”

  “And with you?” Seth wiggled his eyebrows and I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “I suppose so, yes. I miss him so, Seth, I can’t begin to tell you. I’m so sorry that he was kept hidden for such a time, I –”

  “That’s enough. You did what you thought to be right. You wouldn’t abandon someone you cared about even when it was a danger. I only wish I were so courageous.”

  “Mr. Bullock, you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself,” I touched his arm. “You have a duty, and you were doing it. If you let your friend go simply because he was your friend, then your honor would be forfeit.”

  He nodded. “Even so.” And then he shook his head. “Even so. You’re too kind, Clara, but we have work to do.”

  “We?” I said, incredulous. “What could I possibly –”

  “You’re the witness. I’m arresting someone, uh, two someones, on accusations. You’re the witness to those accusations.” Seth thumped the cover of my journal. “And I’ll have to keep this as evidence for the court in Yankton. All the circumstances in the world won’t convict a criminal, but letters in his own hand and this,” he shook the notebook, “will.”

  “I thought that I’d be able to give you that, and just have Eli set free.”

  He shook his head slowly. “I’m afraid it has to be this way. We can’t let him go without someone else to charge. If you can’t bring yourself to do it, I understand. If that’s the case, Mr. Clark will have to accompany me, as he vouches for your statements.”

  “No!” I almost shouted then calmed myself. “No, no, it can’t wait. Mr. Swearengen warned me to do this under cover of night, for fear of what the townspeople will do.”

  “Likely he’s got the right of it. That old vulture often does, as little as I like him.” He balled up his fists and massaged the lower part of his back. “Come i
n,” Seth said. “I’ll need to be dressed a bit more formally than this if I’m to execute the law. For some reason, people don’t take shirtless men with unkempt hair very seriously.”

  He retreated up the stairs while I waited by the front door. “I’ll be just a few minutes. Make yourself comfortable,” he called down.

  The sparseness of Mr. Bullock’s quarters struck me. There was no art, no intricate wood latticework or anything of the sort like what marked the house father and I occupied. The extent of his possessions seemed to be a pair of wooden rocking chairs arranged apparently at random in the center of the sitting room, and a table with two chairs on opposite sides.

  I heard him grumble about finding his badge, and thought back to what Eustace Rawls said the second time I encountered him – the first time he was capable of clear speech. He spoke of Seth’s lust for women, and the string of them he left everywhere he went. This living space was not the sort of place someone would keep if they were trying to impress a lady. In fact, it seemed a space that was only rarely used.

  A small writing desk with two pens mounted upon it, and an open inkwell caught my attention. An open packet of stationery lay on the surface, the top sheet of which was a half-written letter. Despite my best efforts to the contrary, curiosity got the best of me.

  “Dear Martha,” it read in a curling script. “Weather here is fine, though the house is lonely without you. I can’t tell you how terribly my heart aches for you to be here with me. Every morning I awake & find my bed empty of you, I hardly want to do anything but get up & go after you. Soon, though not soon enough, this place will be either safe enough for you and the children to join me, or it will be wild enough that I simply leave.”

  The words he wrote touched my soul. It was difficult to believe they’d come from the normally gruff Seth Bullock. The tenderness with which he addressed his wife was just stunning. I continued, ashamed at my snooping, but unable to stop myself.

  “This morning last, my friend Eli returned from his short absconding. He was hiding with a lady whom you would like very much, I believe. She has a kind heart & a most polite manner. Anyway, Eli has quite fallen in love with her & I expect they’ll be married soon, or else he’ll go insane from all the pining he does whilst in the jail. Ha-ha. It weighs heavy on me to keep him locked up, but that’s the trouble of a lawman.”