An hour later, the elegant dress was pinned for alterations and Mrs. Garland had tucked in, tucked up, and tucked away one of her everyday dresses so that it fit Amber nicely.
Before leaving the house, Amber checked in on Noah. He was sore and had a slight fever but seemed to be resting comfortably. When she stopped by the store, she’d ask Grandmother Hughes if she had something to cut his fever. Growing up, Granny always had herbal remedies for whatever ailed Amber and Olivia. If the Hughes family biscuit recipe survived over a hundred years, surely their catalogue of herbal remedies had, too.
16
1878 Leadville, Colorado—Kenzie
When the topsy-turvy ride ended abruptly, Kenzie found herself suffocating in gray soupy air. Her surroundings were shrouded in a heavy fog, making it impossible to discern the features of the landscape. As the fog slowly evaporated, the autumn chill cut right through the wool of her traveling suit and every joint seemed to freeze in place.
She glanced south, where the morning sun struggled to break through the clouds, and its heat briefly touched her cheek. “Where are we?” she asked, pinching her nose.
The minimal research she’d done on Leadville in the nineteenth century led her to believe it would smell, but this was worse than she’d imagined. Smoke from wood- and coal-burning stoves mixed with the yucky stench of sulfur from the smelters, and those odors mingled with the stink of mud, manure, and unwashed men.
Her stomach roiled, and she gagged.
“Are ye going to be sick?” David asked, squeezing her gloved hand.
“I hope not.” The bottom of her riding corset pinched, reminding her not to slouch. When she straightened, it helped her posture but did nothing for her stomach.
“Lift yer skirts before ye drag them in the mud.”
“Damn.” She bunched her long broadcloth skirt in her hands and lifted the hem above her stout boots to keep it from touching the muck.
“I don’t know where we are.” The cold, moist air gave David’s voice a hoarse sound, reminding her of his sexy early-morning voice when he nuzzled her ear and rubbed up against her. “Keep yer wee gun handy.”
Her large muscles still resisted moving, and her body seemed twice as heavy as normal, but she patted her hip where she’d snugged a revolver into a secret pocket. “Don’t expect a quick draw, but I can get to it soon enough.” Freight wagons rolled down the street, splattering icy mud. “This street is as crowded as Times Square at Christmas. If we don’t move, we’ll get run over.”
Rick gave Kenzie and David an odd look, as if he were coming out of some trance that had placed him somewhere else. “Christ. This is real.”
“What’d ye expect? Disney World?” David asked.
“No, just the back lot at Paramount.”
Her hand clenched the reins tighter, and she gagged a second time.
“Do I need to take ye home?”
“No, but next time I’m taking Dramamine. I’m getting too old for this.”
She adjusted the loop of reins over her hand and following David, led her horse over to a fenced area next to Black Hawk Livery, where unsaddled horses were lined along the hitchrack.
The town looked substantial but crude. Two- and three-story brick buildings lined intersecting streets, and new construction seemed to be going on everywhere. The rapid building confirmed the explosion of silver mining in the vicinity. The buildings weren’t hastily constructed clapboard buildings, but brick and mortar with more permanence in mind.
“This reminds me of Kit Montgomery’s stories of landing in Independence, Missouri, in 1852,” Kenzie said. “Kit said the town looked like a refugee camp with smoky fires and hundreds of tents and wagons with thousands of people milling about.”
“You’re giving refugee camps a bad name. This is worse.” Rick removed his poncho and exchanged it for a dark-brown cotton duster rolled up behind his saddle. Then he unstrapped the holster from his flat hips and put it with the gun in his saddlebag.
“Ye going in unarmed?” David asked.
“I have a Colt in a shoulder holster. I just don’t want to send the wrong message. I’ll admit, I didn’t take this seriously.” He scratched the back of his neck. “My spidey senses are spiking off the chart. I can smell trouble.”
“What yer smelling is the stench of manure and burnt coffee,” David said.
“I know what that smells like. What I smell is something else, something unknown.” Rick slipped the duster on over his jacket and rolled his shoulders, as if that could settle the tingling sensation on his neck.
Kenzie gave him a tense smile. “David and I still have some of that, but not as acutely as you do right now. Your instincts are why I wanted you to come along. The hairs on the back of my neck aren’t lying flat, but they’re not standing on end either.”
David cocked a ruddy brow at her, and his mouth quirked up at one corner. “Mine are slightly aroused.”
She rolled her eyes. “So what’s new, McBain?”
“I figured ye out years ago, lass. Ye set me up and then roll yer beautiful eyes when I respond as ye hoped.”
She gasped. “That’s not true.”
He laughed, brushing back a tendril of her hair that had blown loose of her bun. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”
“If you’re quoting Shakespeare, that means you and Cullen have been drinking too much whisky,” Kenzie said.
Rick pointed. “If you want to take your act on the road, I see a sign for Tabor Opera House just ahead. I’m sure this nineteenth-century town would appreciate Kenzie’s jokes and your sax, Dave.”
“We’ve done that gig already,” David said. “Once is plenty for this old Scotsman.”
“We were quite successful, I think, don’t you, McBain? As I remember, your instant stardom distracted you from your mission, and I was kidnapped,” she said in a strained voice.
David shot Rick one of his nastiest looks. “Thanks for the reminder, O’Grady. The lass has forgiven me, but she likes to torture me with the memory. Don’t ye, Kenz?”
“It keeps you humble. But we learned a valuable lesson to never withhold information. The first person to see Amber, tell her we’re here to help.”
“We need to find out where we are first,” David said.
“We’re in Leadville,” Rick said. “There’s a mud-splattered sign over there that reads, CITY OF LEADVILLE INCORPORATED FEBRUARY 18, 1878.”
“How can you see that far without a scope?” Kenzie asked.
“Practice,” Rick said.
Kenzie’s horse danced anxious steps. “That makes that mountain range the western slope of Mosquito Range. That’s where Trey used to go skiing with Amber and Olivia.”
“Then Amber should feel at home,” David said.
“How anybody can feel at home in this thin air beats me. The view of those snow-covered high peaks is breathtaking and humbling, but if you can’t breathe at ten thousand feet, why would you want to be here?” Rick asked.
“To make it rich in the silver mines. That’s the draw.” David secured the brooch to the inside of his vest pocket. “Let’s go look for Amber and see if we can wrap this up in a couple of hours.” He grabbed his saddle horn and tugged it to and fro before swinging onto his horse.
Kenzie put her foot in the stirrup and swung her leg over the saddle. “A lofty goal, McBain, but not very realistic.”
“Wishing and hoping, babe. Ye ready?”
Rick swung into the saddle atop a red dun gelding with black points. “I’ll follow a parallel street, cut back into this one up ahead, and meet you in three or four blocks.”
“Look for Hughes Store,” David said.
With a nudge from Rick’s spurred heels, the dun trotted off. Kenzie lost track of Rick when the horse headed into an alleyway. They were all wearing bullet- and stab-proof vests, but nothing came with a hundred percent guarantee. She could trust both Rick and David not to take any chances, and neither would she, but they were in a Wild West town with
little law and less order.
She did a slow hundred-and-eighty-degree scope of the town—rough-looking men used to gunplay and knife fights hung out next to batwing doors. Lots under construction had building materials spilling from the boardwalks into the streets, forcing pedestrians to walk in traffic lanes. Everywhere, workmen barked orders and hammers clanged. If Amber was walking up and down this street, what was she doing for protection? Maybe she was trying to pass herself off as a boy. If she was, how was she hiding her long hair?
“We’re not taking any chances here, right? We’re from Chicago looking for business opportunities.”
“Whatever my bride wants, my bride gets.”
They rode slowly down Harrison Avenue, smiling and nodding at anyone who looked their way.
“There’s the store,” David said. “Up ahead on the left. We’ll tie up out front. If we don’t have any luck right away, we’ll see if we can find rooms for the night.”
The front of the general store was choked with wagons hauling bricks and other construction materials, and horses hitched to the rail. They squeezed their horses onto the hitching bar. “With all these people, I can’t imagine there will be any rooms available.”
David’s brow furrowed. “Then I’ll buy ye a house.”
“You’re my rock star, McBain.”
“I figure without any kids crawling into our bed, I’ll get lucky. I’ll be damned if I’ll share a room or a tent under the stars with anyone but ye, lass.”
17
1878 Leadville, Colorado—Amber
In Leadville, the last days of autumn were always cold, and once the sun slid behind the mountains, a bitter chill embraced the town, and that made even breathing painful. But the day hadn’t progressed to that point yet. The strong sunlight was taking the early coolness from the air. For newbies, it would still feel cold as dead of winter, but thankfully, she wasn’t a newbie.
Focusing on the worn path rutted in the dirt, she walked carefully toward the shops on Harrison Avenue. Everywhere she walked, there was a danger of twisting an ankle and ending up sprawled in the mud. That would really put a damper on her day.
Mrs. Garland had done a few quick alterations to a blue and white serge walking gown with a long bodice and a double row of buttons. Surprisingly, Amber loved how she looked in the dress and hoped she’d run into Daniel. Silver skirt-lifters hitched up the hem until it cleared the tops of her cowboy boots that didn’t exactly go with the dress. But who would be looking at her feet? No one, unless they were bare. Using lifters was the only way to keep her skirt from sweeping up the mud and rotting offal collecting in the street.
If her sister could see her now, dressed appropriately for once, she wouldn’t do her fake-faint complete with the back of the hand pressed to her forehead. Amber’s style choices never lived up to Olivia’s expectations, but as she asked her sister frequently, “Why do I need a closet full of stilettos when I spend so much time in mines and fossil pits?”
Amber groaned, sidestepping another puddle on the path. The muck didn’t bother her, but she didn’t want to ruin the borrowed dress. She finally reached the relative safety of the weathered boards on Harrison.
Up ahead, leaning near the door of the general store, was a slender man sporting a three-day beard. He stood over six feet tall with full lips and a square jaw. A brown hat rode low on his head, intentionally hiding his eyes. He reminded her of the mean-looking guy she’d seen the day before. A quick sidestep, and she brushed past him and reached for the doorknob. His hand shot out and grabbed the knob first. She jerked hers back, as if his fingers had scalded hers.
He tipped his hat. Their eyes met and held. His were soft brown and engaging. Not what she’d expected. He wore familiarity like a warm cloak—the cock of his chin, the set of his eyes, cheekbones cut high and sharp. She knew him, but that was impossible.
She pulled her eyes away and placed her hand on the wood of the door, hoping it would push open. “Excuse me.”
He didn’t move his hand. Nor did he open the door. “Are you Amber Kelly?”
Thank goodness he had soft eyes, or she’d be beating on the door to be let in. Was he the kind of man Daniel had warned her about? No, not with eyes like that.
She couldn’t keep an edgy tone from creeping into her voice when she said, “Yes, I am.”
Standing closer to him, though, she was reminded of Daniel. Whoever this man was, he was also in law enforcement. She didn’t know how she knew that, but she did. Now, the question was, had Daniel sent him, hoping to get more information from her? Good luck with that. She was tempted to flip open his duster to see if he wore a Pinkerton shield or maybe a sheriff’s badge. He wasn’t wearing a gun at his hip, but he could have one packed in a shoulder holster.
He pointed to an empty bench outside the general store. “Would you mind if we sat and talked?”
“I’m in a hurry,” she said.
He shifted to one side, opening a clear path to the door, giving her a choice. “I won’t take much of your time.” He looked down, long lashes hiding his eyes, and hesitated for a moment before saying, “There’s a serious matter I’d like to discuss. A legal matter,” he said.
Her eyes roved up and down his frame. His clothes were clean, and the dark-brown leather of his boots looked new but muddy. The left boot had a gouge on the toe box that looked recent. The dark brown duster hadn’t seen much wear either, nor the sable brushed cotton trousers that tightly wrapped muscular thighs. He spent hard-earned money on quality utilitarian clothing, and that said a lot about him.
“My specialty is mining law, and you don’t look like a miner.”
The floorboards creaked, and his duster rustled as he moved out of the wind, folded his arms, and tucked his gloved hands in his armpits. “I heard you handle other matters. I need a will.”
She lifted her chin and looked him over one final time before deciding on whether to help him or not. “Are you about to freeze to death?”
He shivered. “I spent the last two years in Afghanistan—”
Her scalp tingled with alarm. That sounded as out of place as she felt.
“To me,” he continued, “this is arctic air, freezing me from the inside out. Even winter days in New York aren’t this cold.”
She scratched the side of her head unsure of what was going on here, but the man wasn’t giving off bad vibes, so the tingling settled down to only a mild annoyance. “Haven’t you heard about Leadville’s weather? The city has nine months of winter and three months of poor sledding.”
He laughed at her joke, but she didn’t. Instead, she remained guarded. “I can’t think of any reason to go to Afghanistan unless you’re working for Uncle Sam.”
He rubbed his gloved hands. “I was in the Marines.”
The Marines were as old as the country, but were they fighting in Afghanistan in the nineteenth century? She stepped out of the way of the customers entering and leaving the store.
“Do you want to go inside? There are chairs parked around a potbelly stove. We can talk there. I don’t want you to freeze to death before I write your will.”
He turned up his coat collar against a cold gust of air and shoved his hands into the deep pockets of his duster. He looked down the street with a grim expression. “Sure.”
She didn’t have much time and hurried to open the door. Ice scrunched beneath the clink-ca-chink of the spurs strapped to the heels of his boots as he stepped in line behind her. The door latch retracted with a click. Inside, he removed his hat and shoved his gloves into his pocket and hovered over her like a child afraid he’d get separated in a mall.
The first aisle was the least crowded, far enough away from women chatting as they fingered dry goods along the back counter. The scent of perfumes and toilet water wafted over her. Now she understood why the aisle didn’t have as much foot traffic. She moved quickly to the next aisle, away from the distracting smells, and stopped when she eyed a woman rushing around a stack of crates wearing a per
fectly tailored charcoal dress cinched at the waist. The Marine, following close behind, bumped into Amber, pitching her forward into bolts of fabric.
“Oh my God. I’m sorry. Are you okay?” He peered down from his considerable height and helped her regain her balance. “I was tailgating and not expecting you to slam on the brakes.”
Amber adjusted the silly little hat Mrs. Garland had insisted she wear. “I think so.” She glanced again at the woman. Grandfather Craig moved to stand next to her and lifted a box to clear her path. Was that Lindsey Hughes, her grandmother?
As if reading her mind, he asked, “Is that Lindsey Hughes?”
“Do you know her?”
“No, but she’s the owner, right?” He idly threaded the brim of his hat through long, slender fingers.
There was something off about the man trailing her. He wasn’t a scary stalker, but he was different from other men she’d met in the last twenty-four hours. He smelled clean and outdoorsy, and although he was unshaven, he wasn’t scruffy. And his styled brown hair was thick and luscious, free of gels, waxes, or pomades, and he had a cute thing going on with his forelock.
Of the six rockers circling a potbelly stove, two stood empty. She moved toward them, but when her grandmother stepped out from behind the counter and headed in her direction, Amber stopped, and the cowboy bumped into her—again. This time he sent her into stacks of canned goods. Strong hands grasped her windmilling arms and yanked her hard, saving her from a nasty situation that could have injured her. The sudden yank, though, sent her flying into the muscular chest of her rescuer, where she instinctively gripped the lapels of his canvas duster.
“Why do people keep running into me? Yesterday, I face planted into a window.” She pushed away from him, heaving a deep breath. “Christ. Who are you anyway?”
He gave her a deep-throated laugh. “Not him. That’s for sure.” His hat had been tossed aside when he’d grabbed her. He stooped, picked it up, and resettled it on his head.
All she heard for a moment, a snap-of-a-finger-moment, was his musical laughter. Then as quickly as the moment arrived, it was displaced by the squeak of chairs, a phlegmy cough, the clink of change as a customer paid their bill.
The Amber Brooch: Time Travel Romance (The Celtic Brooch Book 8) Page 20