Of Gold & Blood Series 2 Books 1 & 4

by Jenny Wheeler

  The moment they touched, she felt the same tingly spark run up her spine that she’d felt the first time he had shaken hands with her in the Sierra wilderness; the same sense of never wanting to let go. She gave her head a slight shake of dissent and willed herself to disengage. When she did she felt the loss in the hollowness inside.

  Although she knew he heartily disapproved of her plans, he hadn’t tried to talk as they’d searched. Now, as they entered the tea house, she thought of Minette’s mother, Francine, and wondered what she would make of everything if she was alive.

  She’d only had the child for a couple of months and she’d already managed to put the girl’s life at risk more than once. She was still bewildered about how and why any of it had happened.

  Breaking the companionable silence, Graysie turned to Nathan. “I keep going over it all in my head. I don’t understand how she got out. The outside doors were all bolted. The handles are too high for her to reach, the bolts too heavy for her little fingers to unlatch. The only way it could have happened is if someone deliberately let her out. And that just doesn’t make sense.”

  She’d gone round and round trying to uncover a reason Minette might have been tempted to leave her room in the middle of the night. Yes, she’d loved seeing the monkey, but Graysie didn’t believe she would just get up in the middle of the night and go looking for it.

  “Maybe something frightened her,” Nathan suggested.

  “But if that happened she’d run to my room, not outside,” she protested. “I am sure of it.”

  They were sitting in a Chinese tea house in a shaded leafy courtyard off Main Street, sipping iced green tea when a pretty waitress approached their table. She hesitated, checking that no one was watching, then bent down to clear their glasses and whisper to Nathan.

  Her voice was animated, her tone panicky, and her eyes frequently darted to the doorway. Maybe she was worried about her boss catching her talking to a customer? As she continued speaking, Nathan’s eyes turned cold and hard.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, perplexed.

  “Oh that’s White Pearl – she works at the hotel and there’s something going on there that concerns her.” Nathan was trying to sound nonchalant. He took a final sip from his tea glass and stood. “I had better take you home,” he said. “You’re looking exhausted.”

  She shook her head. “No. No, I prefer to sit and wait for you. If I go back there empty-handed I’ll feel we’ve failed. You go and see to whatever it is you need to do. I’ll wait.”

  “If you’re sure . . . .” Nathan nodded and set off across the square to the Exchange with long urgent strides. He really wanted to get somewhere in a hurry. She ordered more tea and sank into a reverie. She was so tired, she could barely keep her eyes open.

  Afterward, she wondered if she had nodded off and for how long. It seemed that one minute she was fighting exhaustion and the next she was bolt awake. Across the square she could see an angry crowd gathering, spilling from crowded bar tables out into the street.

  In the midst of the melee, Nathan was clearly visible, standing half a head taller than most of the men around him. She saw there was something else that marked him out too. The small child he held aloft in his arms. In a heartbeat she was on her feet and running across the planked square, the noise of chanting growing louder as she ran.

  “Kill her! Kill her!”

  And then one voice louder than the rest: “The hag deserves to die!”

  *****

  Hector de Vile heard the catcalls and chanting from his private sitting room on the floor above the Exchange Hotel bar. It sounded like a dangerous scene was brewing, and he hurried downstairs to find out what was going on.

  The open courtyard that linked the public bar to the street was filled with a boiling throng of miners. In their midst stood a man half a head taller than most of those around him. He stiffened in shock. Sir John’s Aussie brother was holding a small curly-headed girl protectively against one shoulder, his other hand shading her from the angry faces crowding around them.

  “How do you explain this, Madam Ring?” Nathan Russell was compelling, forceful, and the men surrounding him murmured in support.

  “Yes, tell us, Madam.”

  “What’s she doing there? What’s going on?”

  Nathan Russell held up his free hand for calm and addressed the crowd. “Irish Pete and I found this child in her cellars. What I want to know is, how did she get there?”

  Rescuer and surrounding crowd all turned their full attention on the hotelier, who stood in front of the bar, her glare defying them to seize her. She wore a brilliant green velvet jacket. The pistols hung below her coat hem, and the sharp-nosed dogs shrank at her feet. As she stood, eyes bulging in brazen insolence, the crowd parted like wheat before a whispering wind.

  The threatening rumble of male voices died away as the men parted to make a clear passage for the Castellanos woman. She burst through and stopped before the Australian, taking a deep gulp of air as she reached him. De Vile saw her silently mouth, Is she okay? and he nodded. She stroked the child’s head. The unfolding tableau mesmerized the bar; the big space was so silent, de Vile could hear her whisper from the other side of the room.

  “Sissy’s here now, sweetheart. Shall we go and get a nice drink?”

  Gently, Nathan Russell set the child down on the ground and she buried her head in Graysie’s skirts. She caressed the child’s head and mouthed “Thank you” to her rescuer. Then she took the child’s hand and led her away.

  “I’ll see you in the tea house in a little while,” Nathan called after them. “I’ve got a few loose ends to tidy up here first.”

  A few loose ends indeed. De Vile cursed as he pushed his way through the throng.

  Nathan had returned to the confrontation with Madam Ring. “She didn’t just wander in here,” he challenged. “Two of your hard men are going to have difficulty walking for the next few days because they got in Irish Pete’s way. They weren’t keen to let her go. So I ask again. How did she get here?”

  Like a cornered rat, the hotelier’s darting eyes settled on de Vile. She grinned nervously. “I have my hands full running the hotel. Mr. de Vile will confirm it. I have no idea who snatched her—if that’s what happened. We’ve only got your word for it.” Hands on hips, she wasn’t backing down.

  “Not just his word.” A big Irishman built like a wrestler with a bushy red beard stepped forward and planted himself center stage. Hector de Vile knew this was Irish Pete, manager of one of the richest operations in the district. He was respected as a no-nonsense boss who kept his word, and the men who surrounded them knew it.

  Irish Pete glared at the Madam. “The Aussie didn’t make this up. You ask the singsong girls who work your house. They could hear the child wailing. The walls whisper their secrets; the girls know what’s going on.”

  No one moved. Irish Pete’s words hung in the air, and de Vile sensed the crowd was with the burly man.

  A man wearing a red bandana shouted, “That’s turrible. We’ve few enough children in this town without the ones we have coming to harm. I reckon we string her up.”

  “Mr. de Vile!” Madam Ring’s voice had a shrill edge, her shoulders slumped forward and her bluster evaporated. “Tell them there’s been a silly mistake,” she pleaded. “I don’t know anything! If she was in my cellars, she was there without my knowledge.”

  The crowd murmured in disbelief, and de Vile saw his opportunity. “Woman, it’s a miracle the child didn’t die down there. How did she get there? We are all waiting for an explanation.”

  The crowd erupted into more chanting and catcalls. The red bandana man yelled, “Hang the crow.”

  “Hanging’s too quick. Let’s tar and feather her and run her out of town,” yelled another.

  What had until now been a disgruntled mob was turning dark and deadly, de Vile could feel it. He guessed Nathan Russell could too.

  One of the men standing closest to Madam Ring pinne
d her arms to her sides while another whipped out some rope and secured her wrists. Two others hustled her outside onto the street, where a barrel full of pine tar used for keeping ropes flexible stood outside the lumber merchant’s store.

  Like water running downhill, the men pooled around the bound woman. Within seconds, the Madam was stripped to her waist, green jacket and hat trampled underfoot. Tied to the hitching rail, exposed in her wrinkled nakedness, she might have been pitiable, if not for the raging fury that burned from her.

  “A pox on you all,” she screamed. “You’ll learn.”

  A haggard old crone, brush loaded with dripping pine tar, stepped up. With a slashing blow, she slapped it diagonally across the hotelier’s right cheek, then back across her left.

  “Take that! And that! There is justice after all,” she howled.

  Madam’s head whipped back.

  “That’s payback,” the old woman said. “Discarded me like old rags. You can go rot in hell.”

  Others were joining in now, dipping brushes into the golden pine tar which had melted to the consistency of honey in the rising temperature of the day. It dripped through the hotelier’s hair, down her shoulders, and over her sagging breasts.

  The old hag produced a feather pillow and, with one knife thrust, opened it over the woman’s head. The feathers stuck to her hair, a fluffy shower that might have been benign if not for the sticky tar. Every place they landed they adhered to her skin. Those that fell to the ground were picked up by rough hands and slapped onto her again, so that her skin showed red and sore under the sticky film.

  “See how you like that! Kidnapper! Whore monger!”

  De Vile watched, feeling almost light-headed. At least they hadn’t tried to hang her. She’d been taught a lesson, and she’d know she was lucky to escape with her life. They’d let her sit in this hot sun for a few more hours before they finally ran her out of town. She’d be sore for days from the combination of sunburn and the solvents she’d need to get rid of the persistent tar. But she wasn’t dead. She was just finished in Grass Valley.

  As he turned away with a grim smile, he saw Nathan Russell regarding him thoughtfully, and he paused to congratulate him.

  “That was smart work, finding the child like that. What put you onto it?”

  “What put me onto it? Just the grapevine. I’ve talked a lot with the girls since I’ve been here. They are amused by a white man who speaks their lingo; it’s amazing what you pick up.”

  As they’d been speaking, John had joined his brother. “What on earth…? How the blazes…?” He was at a loss for words. “I’m delighted the child’s safe, but how did she get here?”

  Nathan shrugged. “That is still to be determined, John. I’d better go and find Miss Castellanos and get them back to the house. If she wants to return…”

  His brother dipped his head in surprise. “Not sure I follow. Why wouldn’t she want to?”

  Nathan lifted a single eyebrow and gazed at him. “Why? I thought that would be pretty obvious, brother. The child was spirited away from Gold House once. She didn’t get into the Exchange Hotel cellars by herself. Miss Castellanos might wonder if it’s safe to go back.”

  John laughed. “Lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place, man. Besides, thanks to you we’ve got the answer—it’s found in that sorry sight over there.” He gestured towards Madam Ring, head flopped on her chest, still surrounded by a jeering crowd.

  “Mmmm.” He seemed to address his next remarks straight at de Vile, he thought—or was he just feeling guilty? He wasn’t sure, it happened so rarely. He concentrated on what Nathan Russell said next.

  “We know where she ended up.” Nathan paused and scratched his head, deep in thought. “Yes, we know where she ended up. But I’m not at all sure we know how she got there. And I’m talking about the woman as much as the child.”

  Nine

  Saturday, July 4

  “You can’t be serious!”

  When Graysie Castellanos got excited, her eyes sparked fire. And that was a glorious sight, one that left Nathan with a warm glow in his chest like nothing he’d ever felt before. Funny how even inciting her outrage was so pleasurable.

  He’d been regaling her with stories of the pranks Australian miners had played on each other, exaggerating the facts for effect. It was the day after Minette’s rescue, and after a good night’s sleep, the child had bounced and chattered at breakfast as if everything was just as it should be.

  She hadn’t shown any signs of shock or trauma, but they’d agreed a fun day out at the county fair was the best remedy for any lingering fears she might be harboring.

  Sir John had left early for a business meeting, and they’d spent the morning wandering the exhibits, cheering the Spanish cowboys—the vaqueros—as they ran down and lassoed wild cattle. They applauded the flamenco dancers and devoured pit barbecued beef and tortillas.

  Minette had deemed the magician, who made blue birds fly out of his handkerchief, the best thing ever, and then she’d dozed off on Nathan’s shoulder, overwhelmed with the heat and excitement.

  They’d settled on a pine bench in the amphitheatre with two glasses of iced lemonade, waiting for the big show—the bull and bear baiting—to begin.

  Graysie sat opposite him, one hand lightly clasping her cold glass, the other propping up her chin as, elbow on table, she basked in the early afternoon sun. When she was relaxed and open like this, she was irresistible. He felt the bubbly fizz inside he’d recognized the day before as she let out a long contented sigh and gave him a smile that lit up her emerald eyes.

  “Thanks for this. It’s been a life-saver for both of us.” Minette was flopped against him, the child’s slow warm breathing feathering his neck. “Really.”

  They locked eyes in a moment that stretched on and on. He’d known her for three days and he already felt that he wanted her in his life forever.

  “How is it you’re not married already?” The question was out before he had a chance to censor it. He felt himself turning pink, but he held her gaze.

  “Um… Gosh. What can I say? The right man hasn’t asked me yet?” She let out a spontaneous peal of laughter, and her eyes widened with candor.

  “I guess you’ve already seen I’m not the most biddable of women. I don’t like being told what to do. I guess it takes a particular sort of man to accept that.”

  He took a deep breath and delivered another conversational bombshell. “And it must have occurred to you that it would be much easier to care for Minette if you had a husband?’

  Graysie raised an eyebrow speculatively. “It hadn’t crossed my mind,” she said dryly and fell silent.

  “What happened to Minette’s mother? I haven’t had a chance to ask you about that.”

  “Francine was a wonderful mother and a darling friend. She died in a gambling hall fire. When her husband left her destitute she had to go back to her job as a dealer to feed them. She was trapped when the tent walls went up.” She paused. “Having a husband didn’t help her too much.”

  Nathan could only nod his acceptance. “Touché.”

  He fiddled with his glass and re-settled Minette, who’d slipped down his chest, into a more comfortable position. She didn’t stir.

  “And Minette. What do you want for her?” Nathan suddenly wanted to know more about this infuriating woman with violet-flecked green eyes and impossible dreams.

  “I want her to feel she has a place on this earth that’s just for her. Somewhere she’s loved and accepted, come what may. Where she can discover and delight in her strengths and talents. Something I never had.”

  She gave a quick smile, but Nathan glimpsed a longing that was at odds with the self-reliant, pugnacious woman he’d seen whenever Graysie felt under attack.

  “Oh? Where did you grow up?”

  She shrugged, as if it wasn’t significant, and the slight movement released a fresh fragrance of lemon and sunshine. “Here in California. I was born back East, but my parents
came out here, to escape family, I think. They’d eloped, and Mother’s family never got over it. New York heiress and Spanish photographer weren’t quite a match in their eyes. Even a very good portrait photographer… He didn’t fit their expectations. Anyway, she died when I was young, and Father never really coped after that.” Graysie pressed her lips in a tight line.

  “I’ve never heard the story—how did you come to be on the stage?”

  She gave her head a soft shake and took a deep breath. “Very pushy stepmother. Didn’t really have any choice. She was greedy to get money any way she could, and by then my father had lost his will to work—or to stand up to her.”

  Their eyes locked, and for a moment she seemed to relax. She was seeking something from him—understanding maybe? With a jolt he realized that fiercely independent Miss Castellanos had been forced to adopt her free-wheeling posture out of necessity. He glimpsed what might be if she could drop the shield just a little, and if he could allow himself to trust his intuition. The void of learning to love again yawned open— then slammed shut.

  She stood suddenly, as if shaking off a fantasy, and he wondered if she too had felt the promise that hung in the air between them.

  Her voice hardened. “Look, this is all ancient history. I have to be focused on the now.”

  A trumpet blast sounded and they both turned. Two Mexican riders clad in blue velvet riding coats and breeches had ridden into the ring, followed by a phalanx of roughly attired mountain men dragging a bleeding and enraged roped bear. Its fur was matted and bloody, and as it raised its head and roared, pink-tinged drool dripped from the yellow fangs in its cavernous mouth.

  The captors released it, and the bear whirled around and reared up to face the horse-mounted vaqueros. But before it could reach them, the arena gates opened and a big-horned Spanish bull, bleeding from sword strikes along its sides, charged in, head down. Nathan watched as the bear caught the smell of the bull and swung away from the vaqueros.

  Graysie turned to him wide-eyed. “I’ve never seen this before. Where did they get the bear?”