Anything other than share Mortimer Crane's bed.
Garrick watched Cady walk away with the huge man. At least, he'd had a few minutes alone with her.
He wanted more.
She intrigued him as no other woman had. He liked that his photography interested her. He would enjoy sharing it with her and teaching her how to work his camera. She'd make an apt student.
"Hello, Mister Brant!"
He stuck his head out of the doorway and saw a couple hurrying toward him. The woman had her hand tucked in the crook of her partner's arm and looked at him as if he could capture clouds and hand them to her.
"Will you take our photograph?" the man asked.
"Certainly." He stepped down out of the wagon and offered his hand. "I'd be glad to. Garrick Brant."
"I'm Braxton Gamble and this is my wife, Priscilla." He accepted Garrick's hand. "We were married a few months ago."
"Two months, three weeks and five days," she said.
The man, Mr. Gamble, lifted his eyes to the heavens. "Leave it to a woman to know the exact number. Anyway, we'd like to have a late wedding photo taken, if you have time."
"I would be honored to accommodate you. Are you wearing what you wore for the wedding?"
Mrs. Gamble's pretty face clouded. "Oh, no. I didn't think of that. Could we run home and change, Brax?"
"Do we have to?" the man asked. "We look fine enough, don't we?"
"I'll tell you what," Garrick said. "Why don’t I follow you back home and take the photo there?"
"Oh, we couldn't ask that of you," Mrs. Gamble said. "It's too far."
"How far?"
"Up the mountain at Angel Springs."
"What a coincidence," Garrick said. "I was planning to pay the springs a visit. It's been highly recommended as a photographer's dream."
"Excellent," Braxton said. "Plan to spend a day or even overnight. We have cabins."
Such a trip would delay his plans, but Garrick did want to see the springs. "Sounds like an invitation I can't turn down."
"This will be perfect." Mrs. Gamble turned to her husband. "Don't you think so?"
"Of course," he acquiesced. "We should do it where the deed was done."
Pouting slightly, Mrs. Gamble gave him a slight slap on the arm, but her mouth quickly turned back into a smile.
"We have a couple of tasks to see to first," Mr. Gamble said. "Will that be all right?"
"Certainly. Why don't I store away my gear, hitch up my horses and wait for you here?"
"Perfect," Mrs. Gamble repeated.
As the two made their way back to the boardwalk, Garrick realized he envied them. They had everything a person could want. He'd given little thought to the idea of marrying, having children. He'd been too busy trying to find July. And that still had top priority. Eventually, he'd have time to marry.
The image of Cady Biggler popped into his head.
Smiling, he began stowing away his equipment. There would be time to take Cady's photograph to her later.
After nearly an hour of travel in and out of forests, Garrick followed the Gambles around a bend and the springs came into view. The beauty of the place caused him to suck in his breath, and his fingers itched to set up his camera. He'd need to prepare more plates—more than he owned. He'd have to order more.
Braxton and Priscilla Gamble turned out to be a delightful couple, generous and entertaining. Their hospitality beat out every other place he'd been in a long time. His knowledge of the town's history had expanded by leaps and bounds, and he'd thoroughly enjoyed the lessons.
Learning Braxton had discovered a Spanish gold mine both amazed and excited him. The man must be wealthy, yet he seemed like any other man. He promised to give Garrick a tour before he left town. He wondered when that might be. The longer he stayed, the more of Wildcat Ridge's residents he met, the less eager he was to be on his way. Especially when he thought of Cady.
"Why don't you stay the night?" Priscilla asked as he prepared to go out to hitch up his wagon for the trip back to town.
"You really should," Braxton said. "Do you have appointments tomorrow?"
"Actually, I don't." The offer did tempt him.
Braxton laughed. "Ha! I saw that. You want to stay, don't you?"
"Oh, do please," Priscilla said. "We get so few visitors up here, particularly this time of year. I've enjoyed hearing about your travels. You must keep us informed about your search for July."
"I am tempted." His tone exposed his enthusiasm. "Are you sure it would be no trouble?"
"None at all." Braxton took the harness out of his hands. "Come on, you can stay in the house with us or have your own cabin, complete with fireplace. Firewood is free."
"That cinched it." Garrick chuckled. "I'm staying."
"Wonderful." Priscilla applauded. "Brax, show him his cabin and get a blaze going while I start supper."
"When do you want your photograph done?" Garrick asked.
"It's late now. How about in the morning when the sun's shining, if we're lucky enough to have sunshine?"
"Sounds good."
Garrick couldn't have been more pleased with his accommodations. After a superior meal, the men relaxed in the sitting room of the main house while Priscilla banged pots around in the kitchen, washing dishes.
The men enjoyed a cup of coffee then switched to brandy. Flames from the hearth cast a warm glow over the room. Feeling a little mellow and comfortably at home, Garrick ventured a question. "Tell me what you know about the women in town. Have you met one named Cady? She works at the Gentlemen Only Salon."
Braxton's brows rose. "You know what that place is, don't you?"
"Yes. I spent an hour there the other day photographing two of the girls, but I understand there are four there, including Cady Biggler who's the maid."
"Well, I've never been there." Braxton fished out a couple of cigars and offered one to Garrick. "I have heard of Cady, though. She's quite the looker, I hear. As I understand it, she's missing a sister as well. Is there a connection?"
"Only a coincidence, I'm sure." Garrick bit off the end of his cigar, fished a match out of his match safe and lit it. "Cady believes Mortimer Crane has boarded her sister somewhere. Trouble is, he won't tell her where or let her see the child. I have to admit I don't care for the man."
"I don't know anyone who does," Braxton said.
"What can you tell me about him?"
"He's married. Never laid eyes on his wife. No one has. He keeps her in Salt Lake City. They've been married quite a while. I assume the relationship isn't a good one or you'd see him traveling to see her more often."
"He certainly doesn't act married. I believe he's doing his best to seduce Cady."
Braxton laughed. "He's tried to seduce every woman in this town. I've heard that his rooms in the Crane Hotel are equipped with a secret staircase that lets out onto the alley next to the hotel. He had it built that way, so he could sneak women up there. The fool. I've no idea why he'd think he could keep anything secret in a town like Wildcat Ridge."
"When I was preparing to process her photograph, a man called Thumbs came and practically dragged her away. Is that typical?"
Braxton exhaled smoke from his cigar. "Sounds like Mortimer has special plans for Cady. Beware of going up against him, my friend. He's an underhanded, manipulating cheat and those aren't ordinary men in his employ. They're gunmen."
Later, lying in bed watching his own fire flicker and pop, Garrick thought what it would be like to have a wife to share a place like this with. He pictured Cady standing at the small stove making coffee and found it a pleasing image. Why wasn't a girl like her married? He wished he knew more about how she'd become tangled up with Mortimer Crane.
So, Mortimer had a wife. Interesting. Perhaps this tidbit of information was something he could use to his benefit, if forced to, in his effort to get to know Cady. It would be tantamount to blackmail, but the man deserved it. If Garrick threatened to expose his philandering to Mrs. Crane,
would Mortimer go so far as to release Cady?
Or would he sic his gunmen on him? Thumbs had a tough looking exterior, but he'd detected a softness or neediness in him that damaged the image. On the other hand, he suspected Lach could commit murder without conscience.
With the weather perfect for photography the next morning, Garrick spent the day behind his camera. The Gambles posed in the spot where they were married, wearing their wedding finery.
The rest of the day, he spent recording the beauty of the springs and developing the results which he gladly shared with his host and hostess.
That evening, he returned to town with more than a tad of reluctance.
"Cady?" Franco's voice came through the wall from the corridor.
"Coming." Cady hurried to open the door. "What is it? Please don't tell me Mortimer wants me." The man had returned the previous afternoon.
He laughed. "Oh, he wants you. That's not why I'm here though. That Brant fellow is here with the photograph he took of you."
"Oh. I'm eager to see it." She stepped into the hall. Three days had passed since that day at his wagon, and she had decided he must be gone. "Where is he?"
"I left him in the anteroom in the hope Mortimer wouldn't notice him. You'd best get down there fast."
She took Franco at his word and raced down the stairs, holding up the skirts of her plain woolen dress and not caring if her ankles showed. For the life of her she couldn't imagine how anyone could find a woman's ankles covered in thick stockings provocative. In the anteroom, Garrick stood gazing up at a wildlife painting on the wall, his hands folded behind him. "Mr. Brant?"
He turned. "Hello. I brought your photograph, but what's this Mr. Brant for? I thought we agreed to use given names."
She loved his smile. He had lips that naturally curved up at the corners, so he always had a pleasant expression on his face. Mortimer's mouth turned down like an upside-down bracket. The glower suited his personality, however. "I can't wait to see it."
He brought his hands from behind his back and held out a flat, wrapped package. "Open it."
Cady couldn't help grinning. She hadn't enjoyed this much excitement in ages. It felt like Christmas. She ripped off the paper, held up the image and gasped. "That's me?"
"Nobody else."
"But… I look pretty. I've never looked pretty before."
Garrick laughed. "You've always appeared lovely to me, even with a rag wrapped around your hair."
"You're teasing me." Did he truly find her lovely? Surely not, much as she wished he did. "Did you do something to make me look this way?"
"No. It's just you, Cady. You are a very beau—"
"What's going on here?" Mortimer Crane stormed into the small room. "Since when do you have permission to entertain guests in my foyer, Miss Biggler?"
An instinctive urge to protect her had Garrick stepping in front of her. "It's my doing, Mr. Crane. I took a photograph of her the other day and wanted to give her a copy to keep. I thought if I came early in the day, it wouldn't disturb your business."
"Well, it disturbs me. What photograph?"
Cady knew what would happen if she showed it to him. "It's mine, sir."
His eyes narrowed. "Give it over or you'll be sorry."
Knowing what he meant by that, she held out the treasure.
"Huh! What use do you have for something like this?" Mortimer asked, taking it from her.
She tried to grab it. "You've seen it now. Give it to me, please."
He snatched the photo out of reach. "I'll hang onto it for you, keep it safe, my dear. As for you, Mr. Brant, you may be on your way. Good day."
"Excuse me, Mr. Crane, but that photograph belongs to Miss Biggler. I gave it to her."
"I can damn well do whatever I like in my own place of business," Mortimer shouted. "Now get out."
"In a few minutes, sir. I'm not done speaking with her."
"Give me my picture, Mr. Crane." Cady reached around Mortimer trying to get the photo.
"Something wrong here, sir?" Lach appeared behind his employer.
"Yes, see that this man leaves at once. Cady, go check the premises and make sure everything is as it should be for business tonight. Now."
Before Garrick could argue with the man further, Mortimer scurried away.
"You heard him." Lach glared at Garrick, the scars on his face adding to the malevolent picture he produced. "He wants you gone."
"Now, just a minute," Garrick said, putting Cady behind him again. "What kind of business do you run here that you'd kick possible customers off the premises for no reason?"
Lach moved closer. "Out, mister."
"No, I—" The click of a gun being cocked shut him up.
Garrick lowered his gaze to the Colt aimed at his belly. Cady gasped.
"Stop that, Lach." Cady slapped uselessly at the huge man. "Put down that weapon."
He elbowed her away, forced Garrick out by gunpoint and locked the door.
"That was pure rudeness, you ogre."
"Merely doing my job." He shoved her toward the stairs. "Get going."
“Cady, are you all right?” Garrick rattled the door knob trying to open it.
"Stop it, Lach." Cady yelled. “I’m fine, Garrick. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodbye now.”
"All right. If he hurts you—"
"He won't."
Cady watched Lach slide his gun into its holster and saunter off as if he'd done nothing objectionable. Furious, Cady stormed over to the office. She wanted her photo and had a few words to say to Mortimer.
At the door, she hesitated, hands clenched at her sides while she counted to ten to avoid blurting something she might not be able to take back. Better to walk away now and wait for an opportunity to get what was hers without furthering Mortimer's annoyance with her. And Lach's.
"Cady?"
She swirled around to see Mae behind her. "What happened? I saw Mortimer storm in there. Who was at the door?"
Cady gestured for them to step away from the office door. "Mr. Brant brought the photo he took of me, and Mortimer confiscated it, the slimy snail. Then Lach forced him to leave by gunpoint."
Mae appeared to pale. She glanced around as if expecting Garrick to still be present. "Mr. Brant was here?
"Yes. Let's go to my room and I'll tell you about it. Are you all right, Mae? You look shaken."
In his office, Mortimer glared at Thumbs slouched in a chair cleaning his fingernails with a knife, his boots on the desk.
"Get up from there and keep your filthy boots off my furniture." He knocked Thumbs' feet away and claimed his chair at the desk. "You two are failing me. I ought to fire you both."
Thumbs surged to his feet the same time Lach came through the door.
"He's gone, Mr. Crane," Lach said and helped himself to a glass of whiskey.
"He'd better be. If you'd already been out there, you could've prevented the man from ever stepping foot inside my door."
He yanked a cigar from a box on his desk and fumbled through his pockets searching for his match safe. "If you'll recall, guarding the door and admitting customers was part of why I hired you."
"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir," Thumbs said. "We rarely get visitors this early, even on a Friday, but I'll stay out there all day from now on."
"You certainly will, and you'll keep Garrick Brant away from my girls, particularly Cady, or you'll be seeking a new job."
"Yes, sir." Thumbs lumbered out of the room.
"You want me to stay out there too, boss?" Lach asked, having entered in time to hear the exchange.
"Well, now, let's think about this." Mortimer lit his cigar and blew a perfect smoke ring. He loved when he could do that. It made him feel distinguished and accomplished both.
"Let's say someone who wanted to see me dead slipped inside the building. He could throw open my office door any second and I'd be dead before you could even get out of your chair, don't you think?"
Lach's head lowered a fraction. "Yes, sir. I'll be in
the parlor if you need me."
"No. You hang around the kitchen and watch the back door. And see to it that Cady never leaves this house without one of you in attendance. Under no circumstances is she to be allowed to go farther than the town limits. And do whatever you have to do to keep that Brant fellow away from her."
"I'll see to it, sir."
"While you're at it, keep an eye on Thumbs. Never should have hired him. Man may be good with a gun, but he's soft inside."
After Lach left, Mortimer leaned back, propped his boots on the desk and stared at Cady's photograph. So lovely. Even in this one-dimensional plane, her complexion maintained its vibrancy, her eyes that combination of provocativeness and innocence. He imagined her coming through the door with hunger in her eyes—for him, only him.
Chapter Seven
July. Could it be possible that Garrick had found her? That she had been in Wildcat Ridge all this time, right under his nose at the Gentlemen Only Salon? It felt too good to be true.
He was afraid to believe it, he'd looked for so long. All the days of traveling, of searching. All the shattered hopes. All the faces he'd seen in three years of taking photographs, searching, searching, and none of them hers. Had his imagination tired of the hunt and planted her face on a strange woman?
She'd come down the stairs the same instant Mortimer Crane's ape-like bodyguard had shoved him out the door. Only an instant. One blink of a glimpse in dim lighting. He could be wrong. He had to find out.
That meant another visit to the Gentlemen Only Salon, a place he'd been exiled from and where his life might be in danger.
He had to do it.
He put down the book he'd meant to read and took his coat from its hook instead.
Rooster roused from where he slept at the foot of the bed and gave Garrick an appraising once-over. He must have passed muster, for the cat laid his head back down and closed his eyes.
He strapped on his gun-belt, left his room and exited the hotel's rear entrance, heading north. Once inside the salon, he'd find his way to the second floor where the working girls lived and conducted business. Not until he had a good look at each one, assuring himself he had either found July or gone insane, would he leave. First, he'd let the marshal know his plans. If he disappeared during the night, they'd know where to start their investigation.
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