Connie Brockway

by Anything For Love

  ANCHENT OLD DEAD MAN.

  25¢ A LOOK.

  REEL OLD AND UGLIE

  Venice slowed her mule as Milton and Carter charged past her across the meadow, jiggling violently atop the trotting mules. Venice’s teeth felt jarred just watching. Wordlessly, Noble fell into pace by her side.

  Her uncle and Carter were waiting when they pulled their ponies to a stop. So was Harry Grundy. He had tipped his beaver top hat back on his red hair and was regarding her uncle with a flat expression.

  “Mr. Grundy.” Venice nodded a greeting. “I didn’t know you were interested in archaeological sciences.”

  “Yup,” Harry said. “Yup, I am.”

  “And you are the happy discoverer of this unique find?”

  “Me and my brother, ma’am. We found this here wondrous thing a week ago whilst we was, ah, panning fer gold. Been out here ever since.”

  Venice looked around for any sign of a creek bed. There wasn’t one. She studied Harry who was innocently blinking at her.

  “But where were you—”

  “Have you a dollar, Venice?” Milton broke in breathlessly.

  “What for?” Noble asked.

  “Everyone who wants to see the Fossil Man gots to pay. No exceptions,” Harry said.

  “Why, you miserable, tight-fisted, bloodsucking—!” Noble swung out of the saddle and started forward.

  “Anton!” Harry squeaked.

  Anton Grundy, all three hundred pounds of him, appeared from behind the boulder. His head, unusually small as it was, was covered with an oversized bowler. The brim folded the tips of his ears down. He was red. An awful, ungodly, angry red. As if he’d been staked out in the sun for hours. And he was scowling.

  Anton in one of his most felicitous moods was no treat. Anton scowling and looking like a broiled salmon wasn’t something Noble wanted to tangle with, particularly with his bruised ribs. Contenting himself with a curse, Noble dug in his pocket and flipped a two-dollar gold piece at Harry. Snapping it out of the air, Harry dropped it into a bulging coin purse.

  “Take the folks back, Anton.”

  Sullenly, Anton motioned them to follow. Carter and Milton stepped eagerly forward, craning their necks as they trailed Anton around to the back of the boulder. A big, pink blanket with purple nosegays, which Noble recognized as having come from the Grundy’s back room, covered an area at the base of the rock.

  In a high, singsong voice, Anton recited, “We found this find when we were out lookin’ to find gold. Imagine our surprise when we found this here instead of gold. It were a big surprise.”

  “Not much in the way of delivery,” Noble whispered to Venice.

  She bit her lip. If he made her giggle, Anton would probably hit him.

  “So here is our find,” Anton said, flipping back the blanket. “Voo-lah.”

  Venice, Milton, and Carter all leaned over the edge of the shallow excavation.

  Venice squeezed her eyes shut. Her shoulders started shaking and in a few seconds she was snorting through her fingers. She gave up abruptly, doubling over, holding her stomach, and laughing uproariously.

  Milton was next and then Carter. They collapsed into each other’s arms, sobbing with hysteria. Curiously, Noble angled his head, looking over Venice’s shoulder to see what was so funny.

  A replica of Anton Grundy was lying in the grave. Or as reasonable an approximation as concrete, plaster of Paris, shoe black, and mule dung could fashion.

  It was a complete body cast of Anton Grundy. Complete even to the texture of the long underwear Anton must have been wearing when Harry made the mold. The face perfectly captured Anton’s sullen grimace.

  Apparently, Noble noticed, feeling his mouth spreading into a huge grin, Anton Grundy owned an unexpected streak of bashfulness. He’d been cast with his hands modestly covering certain private parts of his anatomy.

  How anyone could mistake this thing for a fossil was beyond Noble. Why there were even little tufts of hair . . .

  “Anton,” Noble said, trying to keep a straight face, “I don’t remember you ever being partial to hats.”

  Venice had herself under control. Sort of. She was staring at Anton with round eyes, tears gleaming as she strove to keep a neutral expression on her face. Anton looked as if he wanted to kill someone. Venice blinked furiously.

  “What, McCaneaghy?” Anton growled. “Why are y’all laughing fer?”

  “Anton, will you take off your hat?”

  “No, I won’t take off my hat!”

  “I think there is a big, black spider on the brim,” Noble said.

  “What?!” The bowler sailed off his head.

  What was left of Anton’s hair stuck out in little tufts all over a bright red, baby-smooth scalp. Plaster clung to the pathetic remnants of a once-fine head of hair.

  Just thinking of washing off all that concrete and plaster made Noble wince. Geez, it looked like Harry had let it dry too hard and taken a wire brush to Anton’s hide to get it off. Anton had probably never been so clean.

  “God,” Noble whispered in awe, “that musta hurt!”

  “You ain’t sayin’ shit!” Anton thundered.

  Harry appeared from the other side of the boulder, his vigilance in keeping unpaying spectators away from the fossil interrupted by Anton’s bellow.

  “What the hell is going on?” he demanded.

  “This isn’t fooling anyone,” Noble said.

  “I don’t know what yore talkin’ about,” Harry said. “We done made a sci-in-tif-ic discovery and now Miss Leiland and her uncle will just hang around Salvage lookin’ fer more of the same.”

  There was a note of desperation in the sullen assertion.

  “Why,” Venice said incredulously, “why, you’re the one who sent me that coyote!”

  “Nope,” said Harry, looking everywhere but at Venice’s face.

  “And the bird thing. That was you, too!”

  “Nah-uh!”

  Hurt ribs be damned, thought Noble. He was going to find out why these two oafs had been terrorizing Venice. Striding over to Anton, Noble gripped a fistful of shirt and jerked him forward. It was like trying to jerk an ox, but anger lent Noble strength.

  “Why the hell are you trying to scare Venice?” he growled into Anton’s face.

  “Scare her?” There was so much honest confusion in Harry’s voice that Noble dropped his hold on Anton and swung around to confront the brother.

  “We wasn’t tryin’ to scare her!” Harry protested. “We was trying to—”

  “Shit, jes’ tell em, Harry. McCaneaghy looks ready to piss bullets,” Anton mumbled, rubbing his throat.

  “We was just tryin’ to make her and her ditsy old coot of an uncle think there was some of them fossils they’s lookin’ fer around here.”

  “Why?”

  “ ‘Cause if there ain’t, she’s gonna talk her uncle into pulling out of Salvage. And that means no spur line and that means—”

  “No Grundy Mercantile,” Anton burst in pitiably. “And that means Dubuque!”

  “Geez,” muttered Noble, shaking his head. He looked over to see how Venice was taking this news.

  She was staring down at the “fossil man.” She turned back to them, eyes shining, lips quivering. “Gentlemen, who am I to keep a discovery of this magnitude from the world?”

  “What’s she mean?” Harry demanded.

  “She’s not going to tell on you,” Noble said.

  The Grundys’ hoots of happiness echoed down the canyon.

  Chapter 25

  “Poor Grundys,” said Milton, stirring the campfire. It was late. Hours ago, they’d finished the dinner Templeton had had waiting for them.

  “ ‘Poor Grundys,’ nothing,” Noble said. “They’re already turning that thing into a gold mine.”

  “Yes.” Milton smiled. “I must admit to feeling a bit of one-upmanship. Not that it won’t be years before we’re able to put our find before the public eye . . .”

  Noble half-list
ened as Carter added his speculations about how long it would take to excavate the jawbone. His gaze rested on Venice.

  She’d taken herself to the far side of the campfire, wrapping up in a thick blanket. Her dark hair fell in a cloud about her smooth, ivory face, making her look like some lovely night spirit come to play at a mortal’s fire, beguiling a poor man with her unnatural beauty and fine-boned grace.

  And if ever a man was beguiled, Noble had to admit, it was he.

  She kept casting him tentative glances, too, as if that same spirit were intrigued by a mortal man and feeling threatened by the attraction.

  Threatened? Fine. Why should he be the only one who was so vulnerable, so exposed? If loving him was threatening, then yes, and yes, and yes, he’d like her damn near terrified.

  He shook his head, tired and worn down by the prospect of beating down the wall Venice had built between them.

  “I’d think you’d be heartened, m’boy.” Milton’s voice penetrated Noble’s thoughts. “Why do you shake your head?”

  “Hm?”

  “The tourists who will flock to see the dig site will certainly benefit your own purposes,” Milton said.

  “Of course,” Noble agreed, trying to work up some enthusiasm.

  “How’s that?” Venice asked, curious.

  Noble looked up eagerly. “Remember our earlier discussion?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, the prospect of tourism on a large scale might be the incentive Congress needs to set aside large portions of land as a national resource.”

  Seeing her interest, he continued. “If the Yellowstone River area becomes a national park, we’ll be able to draw public attention to the undeveloped areas of the country. It might awaken interest on the subject of unregulated territorial expansion.”

  She regarded him thoughtfully. “The dinosaur, the wildlife, the scenery . . . they’re a perfect argument for a national trust,” she said pensively. “None of these have any monetary value. All of their worth is of an academic or sports nature. Their appeal is to the wealthy: scientists who can afford the luxury of study, the privileged enthusiast, the wealthy game hunter. In other words, the people who have Congress’s ear.”

  “That’s right,” Noble said.

  “And if this area becomes a national park,” Venice said, “it will be safeguarded from private interests.”

  “Yes,” Noble said.

  “Safe from men like my father.”

  “He’s one of them . . . yes. But this isn’t a private vendetta against Trevor, Venice.”

  “I know,” she said quietly. “But business always finds a way. It’ll find a way around your bill.”

  “So, I’m a die-hard optimist.”

  Venice smiled at him. “Oh? Then let a die-hard realist look for the holes in your logic.”

  She was into the spirit of the debate, now. She moved from the other side of the fire and sat down, Milton between them. She leaned forward. Noble leaned forward. After a second’s hesitation, Milton leaned back.

  “What of your tourists?” Venice asked, settling her chin in her hand. “Aren’t you afraid your precious Yellowstone River park is going to be overrun with them?”

  “Not on the scope that’s being proposed,” Noble said. “We’re not talking about a few square miles, a Central Park in the midst of these mountains. The bill that will create the Yellowstone park is designed to encompass thousands of square miles.”

  Venice paused, her gaze focused, a sharp gleam of excitement in the silvery depths. “But will the bill pass?”

  “Noble’s been working on it for ages, Venice,” Milton said. “He was amongst the military men the government sent to explore the northern parts of the territory a few years back. His recommendations have been instrumental in getting this bill written. He hasn’t said as much, but he is one of those powers that be.”

  Venice flung Noble a startled look.

  “ ‘Powers’ is overstating it by a long stretch, Milton,” he said uncomfortably.

  “No, it isn’t,” Carter piped up. “Noble has worked with Lieutenant Wheeler, Mr. Powell, and he even knows Clarence King. You know, of the Fortieth Parallel fame? I hear he’s writing a book.”

  “On how to be a specious ass,” Noble mumbled.

  Carter continued blithely on. “And our young friend here has penned a number of erudite studies for various geological periodicals and other learned tomes.”

  “My, my. You’ve been busy, haven’t you?” Venice said. Her voice sounded odd, not quite amused, not quite condemning.

  “Influence can be achieved in more ways than through wealth, Venice.”

  “Apparently.”

  “And while I don’t think Noble could be called a rich man, I doubt he’s a pauper,” Milton said.

  “Indeed, no,” Noble said with mock pride. “I own two, count ‘em, two suits.”

  Venice’s look of surprise caused Noble to smile. He remembered her earlier offer to buy him a new shirt, certain he couldn’t afford one himself. She must be remembering too, because suddenly she turned bright pink.

  “I expect you’ll be going to Washington for the fall session, Noble?” Carter asked.

  “Unless it’s unavoidable, no, I won’t.”

  “Do you hate leaving the mountains so very much?” Venice asked.

  It was Noble’s turn to be surprised. “No. I’m planning on it. I just don’t want to go to Washington. It’s hot and muggy Besides my presence at the hearings would be redundant. They already have all my reports. They don’t need me. I’d rather spend the time traveling. There’s a place that I’ve always wanted to explore. I was hoping to get there this autumn.”

  “Traveling.” Venice smiled dreamily, staring into the flames. The group fell silent, caught in their own musings until a sudden, unhappy braying broke their reverie.

  Noble stood up and dusted off his pants’ legs. “I’d best water and feed the mules,” he said, and strode off toward the increasing racket.

  Milton, too, got up, grimacing as he rose to his full height. “Old, stiff bones. I’d better stretch them out a bit or I won’t be able to rise in the morning. Would you care to join me in an evening stroll, m’dear?” he asked Venice.

  “Certainly,” she said, getting up and taking his arm.

  “Carter?” Milton asked politely.

  “No, you two go on. I’ll stay here and keep Templeton company.”

  Milton led Venice beyond the edges of the firelight and out under the star-blanketed sky. She looked up and shivered.

  “Yes,” Milton said in response, drawing her closer. “I fear it’s going to be cold tomorrow. But, thankfully, we shouldn’t have to camp out tomorrow night. We should be safely tucked into our own little beds in Salvage.”

  “Yes.”

  “The prospect doesn’t seem inordinately cheering to you, m’dear.”

  “Oh, it is,” she said, trying to sound excited. “I am eager to wire the various institutes about your dinosaur. Really. I have no doubt it will be the making of Salvage. Alongside the Grundys’ prehistoric man.”

  “Oh, yes,” Milton murmured. “Salvage. You’re quite concerned about that little hamlet, aren’t you?”

  Venice shrugged, slowing her pace to match her uncle’s. “I feel Salvage is our responsibility. The Leiland Foundation made Salvage and I can’t let it unmake Salvage. It doesn’t seem fair.”

  “Sometimes life isn’t fair. Oh, Lord. I just realized what I must sound like. The patronizing old uncle handing down pearls of wisdom from his exalted heights. I wonder you don’t trip me.”

  She laughed. “I appreciate your wisdom,” she said and kissed his cheek.

  “I’m not worthy of your affection.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “It’s true, Venice. I know you think of Trevor and I as being opposites. He as a cold, dogmatic, and rigid man and me as a sweet, loving, and lenient uncle. I wish I did have those qualities.” He sighed. “But I don’t. In truth, we’r
e very much alike, your father and I. Both selfish, self-absorbed, and determined. Your father’s mistake was that for a short time he allowed another person to affect his happiness.”

  “My mother.”

  Milton nodded. “And when she failed to make him happy, he banished her. I, on the other hand,” Milton continued, “was wiser. I never allowed another human that power over me. If I had, I don’t doubt that it would have ended similarly.”

  “That’s not true,” Venice protested. “You have always been a loving and devoted uncle to me.”

  He stopped and patted her hand. “I am not proud of this, Venice, but I am capable of a few sacrifices and your good opinion must be one of them.” His tone was self-mocking. “Think, my dear. I was devoted and loving at my discretion. At my convenience. Never yours.

  “I could have come to New York when I heard your mother had died, but I was too busy in Egypt.” His voice had lowered, roughened. She couldn’t see his face. “I could have taken you away and put you in private school wherever I was digging. Trevor wouldn’t have protested. But I didn’t. It would have been inconvenient.”

  “Why are you saying this?” Venice asked. “Why are you hurting us both like this?”

  “Because I want you to see the truth, Venice. Your father and I are the same. Don’t judge all men against our measure. It wouldn’t be fair. There are men who know how to love. Who know how to give. Don’t make the mistake of believing that convenience is all you deserve. You’re a loving woman, Venice. Just like your mother was.”

  “My mother?” Venice sniffed and dashed a tear from her cheek. “My mother divorced my father.”

  “Don’t judge her too harshly, Venice. The reason she agreed to divorce your father was because she couldn’t live as his wife without his love. Their divorce was his failing, Venice. Not hers.”

  She was quiet, staring at the sky above.

  “Do you understand what I’m saying, Venice?” he asked softly.

  “Yes.” She looked down into his shadowed face. “But how do you know that I’m like my mother? What if I’m just like Trevor? Or . . . you? Incapable of a lasting love.”

  She was startled by his laugh.

  “Oh, Venice. You? Incapable of a lasting love? Open your eyes, my dear,” he said.