Seb gave him a slow smile that lit up his tanned, round face. “Yeah. So he should—he’s an old man. Should have married long ago.” His eyes glinted with mischief and they both laughed.
It had been a standing joke that they’d always had to defer to John because he was older.
“But he always did know how to impress.” Seb’s admiration was grudging.
They’d been plied with tasters of tiny, savory meatballs, creamy French cheese, Hickory-cured ham, and celery and dill pickles and were getting restless for the next course when the lively conversation suddenly hushed. Nathan’s fellow diners had turned to stare to the door, where a handsome woman in a red-and-black feathered hat was making a dramatic entrance. Behind her strode a tallish man, obscured from view by the lady and her remarkable plumage.
Sir John stood and made his way towards them, hand outstretched in greeting. “Ah Mrs. Hayes. And Martens, old chap. Welcome.”
Following his brother’s lead, Nathan had also stood as a mark of courtesy, but at the mention of the man’s name, his heart plummeted. He’d known a Willoughby Martens in Sydney. His stepfather had dismissed that Martens for fraud, and his activities had played a big part in the family’s subsequent financial collapse.
He watched, and saw the shocked instant when Martens recognized him. His face was still sun-bronzed, his upper body strong and well-muscled, but there was a wariness about his glance, a darting slipperiness that hadn’t been there when Nathan had seen him last. As their eyes locked, Martens froze mid-stride, and the woman at his side hesitated.
“Are you alright, Mr. Martens?” Her voice was soothing, a pleasing blend of flowing Californian phrasing and clipped Antipodean vowels. Another Australian? Martens looked past her to Nathan, an uneasy rictus smile frozen across his face.
“Well, well, you’re a long way from home.” His Australian drawl was pronounced as they sized each other up like circling dogs.
John cut in. “Of course, I should have thought, Willoughby—you know my brother Nathan then? I guess Sydney’s a small town when it comes to business. I gather you’ve already met? That’s good.” He turned to Nathan. “I’m working on something with Willoughby that just might bring us both a very nice profit.”
Nathan saw his brother’s eyes narrow at the word profit. They’d be hoping to make a killing if he knew Martens. And probably not too fussy about the business ethics, either.
John turned to the room and clapped his hands for attention. “Everyone, please welcome an Australian business friend, Willoughby Martens, and the New Zealand opera star Mrs. Pania Hayes—I’m sure Mrs. Hayes won’t need any introduction for those of you who patronize the theatre.” He drew the newcomers to the two empty places near him, and Nathan saw Martens greet de Vile like they were old friends.
The rest of the Cliff House lunch passed in a blur. Nathan had set all his hopes on this trip providing him with an opportunity to get on top of the family’s mountain of debt. He didn’t know how he would face his mother and half-sisters if he failed them.
But Martens being there? And already in a cozy trusted business relationship not just with Hector de Vile but with Nathan’s brother as well—two of California’s most influential businessmen?
He suspected unless old John had changed a lot in the last seventeen years, if it came to choosing between family loyalty or a winning deal, he’d take the win every time.
Two
Wednesday, July 1, 1868
Ophir Mine, Sierra Nevadas
Graysie wriggled her toes appreciatively in her strong leather riding boots and drummed her fingers on the water bottle in her lap. He was late. She’d been waiting in the borrowed wagon at the rendezvous she’d agreed upon with mines engineer Vance Pedersen for longer than she expected, and it was getting hotter with every passing minute.
She’d pulled her mule over into the spotty shade from a scraggly tree close to the road, but it was taking all her self-control not to dig out the watch she carried in her riding habit pocket for the umpteenth time. She resisted. She didn’t want Minette to sense her rising anxiety.
They’d agreed to meet at the junction of the main out-of-town road with the Ophir Ridge Track, and that’s where she was waiting. She was sure she had the right place.
She reached over to Minette, seated beside her on the wagon’s front bench seat, and patted her bonneted head. The little girl beamed a dimpled smile. One thing to be grateful for, she was a different child since they’d come to the mountains. She hadn’t had a nightmare since they’d arrived.
And Graysie was feeling better, too. The tightness in her chest that had been there ever since Francine’s death was easing. That was the plus.
The minus was she’d quickly discovered it was going to be harder than she thought to research the Ophir’s prospects by herself. Willie Watson, the prospector who’d done the report for Eustace a couple of years ago, was out of town on a job, and his sister didn’t know when he’d be returning.
Instead she’d struck it lucky tracking down Vance Pedersen, an engineer people said knew more than anyone about local mines, but he’d warned that the Cornish miners—Cousin Jacks, as they were known—who made up a big part of the town’s work force considered a woman’s presence anywhere near a mine bad luck.
The Tommyknockers—leprechaun-like ghosts who haunted the diggings—would curse them with death and destruction if a woman went anywhere near, they said.
She’d got the message fast; she couldn’t just drive to the Ophir with Pedersen without provoking suspicion. If the miners got wind of what she planned, they’d likely resort to violence to stop her, or else refuse to return to work.
The last thing she wanted was to cause trouble, but Pedersen was a tough-minded Norwegian who dismissed the Cousin Jacks’ tales as silly superstitions. He’d suggested they leave separately and meet up on the track once they’d cleared town.
But where was he? From where she sat she could see clearly back down to Grass Valley, population 6000, the bustling mining hub she hoped to make home; a town that had survived and even thrived after the first rush of gold had petered out. Panning the rivers, hydro-blasting the gully walls, these old mining techniques weren’t providing enough ore to live on any more, but Grass Valley’s deep quartz was still producing riches.
From her ridge lookout, Graysie could see some of the mines that were bringing the town wealth, their bulky roofs clearly distinguishable from workers’ houses. The North Star, the Golden Center, and the Empire—these and half a dozen like them were producing hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of gold every year. But the ore-bearing rock was only accessible if you had money to pay experienced workers and install heavy crushers.
Even at this distance, she could hear the thump of the stamps that worked day and night. She could just make out the Main Street boardwalk that reprieved citizens from sinking knee deep in mud in winter, and for a moment she imagined the Wells Fargo coach drawing up outside the two storeyed brick Exchange Hotel where she and Minette were staying.
She sensed movement, and the sharp tang of trampled sage brush filled her nose. Up the slope ahead the track disappeared into a scrabble of mountain grass and rocks.
The dark shape she’d at first taken for a rock formation was actually a man on horseback, coming towards her fast, a large hound bounding alongside. She pulled her rifle up from under her feet and laid it across her lap. Hopefully this was the engineer, but she wasn’t taking any chances.
As the rider approached, she brought the rifle up to eye level and sighted along the barrel, as if lining up a shot. The rider wasn’t Vance Pedersen, who she knew from their previous meeting was in his fifties with grizzled gray hair.
This man was much closer to her age, a confident fellow with a jaw-hugging light blond beard and a direct, fearless gaze. He rode with easy grace, but his carefree air deserted him when he spotted her rifle.
“Whoah! Hold it.” He held up his hand in a checking gesture and reined in his hors
e. “No need for the gun, lady.” He tilted the brim of his hat forward, casting a shadow over eyes that crinkled in the glare. “What’s this? Alone out here with a child?”
He didn’t need to say another word. The censure was clearly written in the cocky way he lifted one eyebrow and stared from her to Minette and then back. Graysie had long hardened herself to ignoring other people’s opinions, but she felt herself flushing.
He was sassy, she could see that, and the tilt of his head carried a charming impudence. But he wasn’t threatening, and she sensed immediately that he intended no harm.
“We’re doing just fine.” She lowered the gun and gave him a playful grin. “Thanks for asking. You just can never be too careful.”
“So what are you doing out here alone?” He persisted. “It’s really not the best place for a woman and child to be without protection.”
“I can take care of myself,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “We’re just exploring.” She tried to inject finality into her words to discourage further questions, but the newcomer ignored her lead.
“Exploring what?”
She felt her pulse quicken, and she tugged at her cuffs irritably. She was uncertain whether she was annoyed at herself for getting into this situation or with him for being so nosy.
Of course, she knew it was not ‘done’ for a young woman to meet an older man alone out in the middle of nowhere, but she’d been successfully ignoring ‘normal’ social expectations ever since she’d run away from her stepmother at fifteen.
She was oddly unwilling to meet the man’s gaze. She waved her hand lazily in front of her face as if warding off a fly. Why should she care what he thought? She could just tell him straight out she was meeting the engineer. But why should she have to explain herself? What business was it of his anyhow? It galled her to admit she did care what he thought.
“I don’t believe we know each other,” she said in an imperious tone. “And I don’t see why I should explain myself to someone I don’t even know.”
“Oh, forgive me, Madam.” He shot her another incorrigible grin and tipped his hat in fake deference. “Happy to oblige. Nathan Russell, it is. Farmer and businessman. Most recently of Sydney, Australia.”
He brought his horse parallel with the wagon and extended his hand for her to shake it. An electric spark coursed up her arm when their fingers touched, and she drew a quick, sharp breath.
The haughty irritation she’d felt moments before melted, replaced by excited little bubbles that ran up the back of her spine. She edged her fingers awkwardly under her collar, as if suddenly in need of air. What was wrong with her? She drew a deep, slow breath and replied in the same jocular vein.
“Graysie Castellanos. Singer and newly minted mine owner. Recently of parts various. And my ‘adopted’ daughter, Minette, my best friend’s child.”
His eyes rested on Minette for a few moments and he extended his hand to gently shake hers too. “Hello Miss Minette.” His voice was low and warm.
He gestured towards a white and brown hound, who had bounded behind his horse and was now flopped on the ground, dozing in the sun. “And this is Vulcan.”
Minette smiled broadly. “Hi, Mister. We’re on an adventure,” she said, as if confiding a secret.
Nathan Russell’s face creased in amusement and he turned back to Graysie, looking deep into her eyes. “Oh, I see. An adventure. I understand. That explains everything.” When he smiled again his blue-grey eyes had a naughty twinkle.
A new, deep energy charged between them, and she found she couldn’t break eye contact or think of a thing to say in response. Then the strange tongue-tied spell was shattered by the drumming of hooves. Graysie picked up the rifle which still lay across her lap and squinted up the mountainside, her eyes screwed up against the harsh light.
Bearing down on them was a man bent low over his saddle, his horse stretched in full stride. From his drunken pitch she could see there was something wrong. He lurched awkwardly with each stride and was only just retaining his mount.
Russell wheeled around and pulled out a rifle stowed by his side. “Get the child down,” he yelled. “And then, if you can use that thing”—he brandished his own rifle—“be ready.”
Horse and rider thundered on, and it was unclear if the man hadn’t seen them or didn’t have enough control to bring his horse to a halt. “I’m going after him,” Nathan called.
He raced across the ground that separated them and nudged his mount alongside the runaway horse. It slowed. With fluid grace he leaned over and grabbed the runaway’s reins with one hand while controlling his own steed with mesmerizing legwork.
Graysie watched dry-mouthed. Calmly he brought both horses to a slow walk, then to a stop. The rescued rider’s last strength gave out. He groaned and pitched over the side of his saddle, raising a little cloud of dust as he thudded to the dirt.
She gathered up her riding skirts in both hands and ran to the prone form, sprawled face down in the dust. She knelt beside him and felt for the pulse point just under his ear. Still beating but very weak.
“We need to get him on his back,” she said.
He slid from the saddle and quickly tethered both horses to the back of the wagon. He stood on the other side of the man’s still body and braced to pull the man towards him.
“One, two, three… and roll,” he called.
As soon as Graysie saw the gray frizzled beard, she understood why Vance Pedersen was late for their appointment. He lay on his back with a bullet wound in his shoulder and another in his chest. His eyes flickered open briefly, but they were glazed over.
No spark of recognition filtered the veil. He whispered something so quietly she wasn’t sure she heard correctly. A woman’s name. She couldn’t say what. Then he gave a long fading sigh. She waited expectantly, but his chest did not rise or fall again.
They crouched over him in silence. She felt she should honor the man’s still form in some way—talk to him, pray for him—do something, anything to avoid acknowledging that he’d never hear, nor have need of, prayer again.
Finally, Nathan spoke. “Afraid the only thing we can do for him now is get him back to town and report to the deputies.” He shrugged. “Sorry. I guess that’s stating the obvious. Do you know him?”
“Yes, yes, I do,” she said. Her mouth tasted of dust, and she struggled to swallow. Nathan was looking at her, waiting for her to answer. She cleared her throat. “It’s the mining engineer, Vance…” Her voice wavered.
“Vance Pedersen. That’s who I was waiting for. We were supposed to meet up here more than half an hour—maybe an hour ago.”
“Really?” The censure was back in Nathan Russell’s voice. “And why was that?” There was a sharp edge to the inquiry.
“He was going to advise me on a mine. He knows—knew—more than pretty well anyone about this area.”
Nathan paced a few strides in one direction, turned, and paced back. He gave her a hard look. “You realize that might be what led to this attack?”
She stared at him, too shocked to speak. What was he talking about? This had nothing to do with her. Vance must have been involved in some trouble she knew nothing about. She shuddered.
“I can’t see how… no… no, I don’t see that at all. Why would you think that?”
“Did anyone in town know you were planning to meet up with him?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. Why?”
“If the Cornishmen got the idea a woman was going down a mine… Someone could have stirred things up. Maybe things just got out of hand…”
Graysie was silent. It was a remote chance, but she supposed it was a possibility.
Nathan rubbed his forehead, as if warding off a headache, and sighed. “We need to get him back to town anyhow… report what’s happened.”
He lowered his voice. “And what about Minette? How’s she going to take this?”
The implied criticism stung. She was supposed to be the responsible on
e, and this stranger she’d only known five minutes was showing her up. She had to clamp her lips together tightly to stop her bottom lip trembling.
Here she’d been imagining she’d just freewheel along with Minette in tow, just like she had when she was solo, but life was already getting much more complicated than she’d anticipated.
Thank God Minette was safe. She was suddenly grateful that someone like Nathan was there. What would she have done if she’d been there alone when Vance turned up injured? She wiped her teary eyes with the back of her hand.
Nathan had been right to try and warn her. This wasn’t a good place for a woman and child to be alone. She seemed to be failing all round. With Minette, with Vance… even with Nathan. Her cheeks burned.
His mouth twisted into a grim line, and his eyes cut straight through her. “We need to get moving. I’ll load Vance into the wagon and you drive. I’ll take Minette up front with me and keep her entertained. It’s just sad a child has to be involved at all.”
Three
The deputy’s office was directly across the street from the Exchange Hotel, and when Nathan pulled up ahead of Graysie’s wagon with Vance Pedersen’s lifeless body slung in the back, a sullen knot of men had already gathered to meet them.
Word had spread fast that one of the town’s most respected workers had been gunned down, and the men regarded them with hostile suspicion. Nathan knew many of them would jump straight to the conclusion that Graysie was implicated in his death somehow or other.
Pedersen, a steady family man, was held in high regard; she was just an unknown outsider. They’d already be rehearsing wild scenarios for what might have happened.
“Went out there alone and got into trouble and now a good man is dead.” That would be the general consensus. He wasn’t sure he didn’t agree, but right now protecting the innocent had to be foremost in his mind.
He stood shoulder to shoulder with his brother Sebastian, recently sworn in as a temporary deputy, in a protective cordon as Graysie hauled the mule to a stop and jumped down lightly to the street. He passed Minette, who he’d hoisted on his shoulder, smoothly into her arms.
Of Gold & Blood Series 2 Books 1 & 4 Page 2