Angel Peak

by Shirleen Davies

  “Gabe and all the deputies are trying to find the man who came into the kitchen. He stayed a night at the St. James, then left. From what we can find out, you were the last one to see him in town.”

  “That’s good, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe. It could also mean he’s nearby but staying out of sight.” His jaw clenched, wanting to warn May without scaring her. “I’d feel better if you didn’t go anywhere alone until we find him, or determine he’s left Splendor.”

  Eyes widening for a moment, she studied Caleb’s face, seeing deep lines from either worry or lack of sleep. Maybe both. “I can’t always have someone with me.”

  He leaned forward. “I think you can. When you’re working in the kitchen, lock the back door and use the hotel entrance to come and go. I’ll walk you to and from the St. James each day you work. When you aren’t working, you’ll be with me.”

  She jerked away, her voice rising. “What?”

  He looked around, lowering his voice. “I’ve already talked with Gabe. He agrees you shouldn’t be alone. If you aren’t with me, you need to be with someone, May. Personally, I’d rather it be me.”

  Lifting a brow, her mouth drew into a thin line before she expelled a frustrated breath.

  “Like now. I’ll walk you to the general store and Allie’s.”

  Her mouth twisted into a smirk. “Are you willing to have lunch with me and my father?”

  “I don’t think he’ll do anything inside the hotel while you’re with other people. But if you want me to join you, I will.”

  Her eyes lit up. “You will? That would be wonderful.”

  Stifling a groan, he nodded. He’d do whatever was needed to keep her safe. “All right. When we’re done with lunch, you’ll work in the kitchen. I’ll be waiting to walk you back to the boardinghouse when you’re finished. Tomorrow morning, I’ll accompany you from the boardinghouse to the kitchen.” He smiled, remembering her promise to have supper with him and Isaac Saturday evening. “Afterward, we’ll go to my place for supper.”

  She let out a disgruntled breath. “What you’re saying is my life isn’t mine until you’ve found and spoken to the man, right? Not that I don’t want to see you, because I do. But you know what some of the women in town will say about us being alone at your house so often.”

  He stroked a hand down her face. “If what they’re thinking is we mean a great deal to each other, they would be right.”

  Mouth twisting, she nodded. “If you believe it’s important, we’ll do it your way.”

  “What I’m saying is you’re important, May.” Standing, he held out his hand, intertwining their fingers as they walked to the general store. “Just don’t ask me to help pick out ribbon or fabric or whatever it is women shop for.”

  Laughing, she shook her head. “I’d never dream of it, Caleb.”

  “I’m so glad we met with Ernest, Charles. We’ll both rest easier now that we’ve made our wishes clear. Are you certain it’s best to keep the documents in his safe?”

  Patting her hand, he picked up the handwritten menu for the Eagle’s Nest. “They’ll be safer there than at our house.”

  She nodded, a grin tugging at her lips. Our house was all Clare really heard.

  A rustling noise at the front had them both looking up to see Dilly, Pauline, and Oliver. A moment later, May and Caleb joined them. Charles and Clare nodded in greeting. She leaned over to whisper in his ear.

  “I’d like to visit with May and Caleb, but I’m not up to talking with Pauline. Not even a short conversation.”

  Chuckling, Charles nodded. “Neither am I, dear. We’ll have to plan a visit with May and Caleb another time.”

  They ate in silence, talking in low voices while trying to ignore Pauline’s grating voice. With each sentence, it rose until Clare felt certain everyone in the restaurant could hear her berating May, Caleb, and Dilly. As another minute passed without the woman stopping, allowing no one to speak, Clare had enough. Catching Charles by surprise, she stood, walking to their table.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, but may I speak with May and Caleb in private for a moment?” She glanced at Pauline, almost stepping back at the malicious expression on the woman’s face.

  “Certainly.” Ignoring Pauline, Dilly smiled at May and Caleb. “Why don’t you go with Mrs. Worthington? It will give me a chance to speak with my wife.”

  They followed Clare to her table, Caleb accepting the hand Charles extended. “Please, sit down.”

  May sent a questioning look at Caleb before taking a chair next to Clare. “Are you two all right?”

  Nodding, Clare took a sip of her tea. “We’re fine, May. I’m sorry to have interrupted, but I couldn’t tolerate Pauline maligning you two and Mr. Bacon any longer. None of you deserve to be treated in such a disrespectful manner. Everyone in the restaurant could hear her. It wasn’t right.” Her hand shook as she lifted the cup again, took a small swallow, and set it down.

  Reaching over, Charles covered her hand with his. “Are you all right, Clare?”

  She nodded, her expression closed.

  Glancing at Caleb, May looked at Clare. “I’m so glad you interrupted her. She’s mean and spiteful. Nothing at all like my mother. To be honest, I simply don’t understand what attracted my father to her. Please don’t feel bad about saving us, Clare. We’re grateful you did.”

  “She’s right, Mrs. Worthington. If you hadn’t come to the table, I would’ve left with May.” Caleb looked past Charles to the table where Dilly spoke with Pauline, his expression cold and unyielding. “I sure hope Mr. Bacon sets his wife straight.”

  “Or leaves her,” May muttered, staring across the restaurant at her father.

  “I’ll not put up with your constant harping any longer, Pauline. I’ve ignored your mean ways and nasty temper, but I’ll not stand for it being directed at my daughter.” Dilly paced in their room, shooting contemptuous glances at his wife, who sat in a chair by the window.

  “Now, Dilly—”

  He held up a hand, stopping whatever else she meant to say. “I’ve also had enough of your placating tone, Pauline. You know exactly what you’re doing and show no remorse for your inappropriate words and actions.” Taking out a handkerchief, he wiped it down his face.

  “You know I don’t really mean—”

  “Of course you do!” Feeling his face heat, he stuffed the handkerchief into his pocket, grabbing his hat from the dresser. “I’m going for a drink. When I return, I expect you to have your bags packed.”

  Jumping to her feet, she stormed toward him. “Why do I need to pack?”

  “Because I’m putting you and your son on the stage east tomorrow. When I return home, we’ll discuss our marriage and how we can amicably part ways.” He didn’t wait for her next explosion before leaving for the Dixie.

  She almost ran after him before reconsidering. Rubbing her hand over her forehead, Pauline tried to think. Arguing with Dilly now would do no good. He seldom became angry, but when he did, it lasted hours. Sometimes days passed before he calmed enough for a rational conversation.

  What she saw tonight scared her. He’d never gone so far as to send her away or mention divorce. Pauline wouldn’t mind ending their marriage, but not until she and Oliver secured their future by removing Clare and taking over their inheritance.

  Opening the door, she made certain Dilly had left before hurrying to Oliver’s room and knocking. “Oliver. Let me in.”

  The door flew open, her son standing inside with his shirt and shoes off. “What is it?”

  Pauline stormed past him, continuing her pacing while rubbing her brow. “It’s Dilly. He’s sending us home on tomorrow’s stage.”

  “He can’t do that.” Oliver choked out the words, a deep red creeping up his neck.

  Stopping, she glared at him. “Of course he can.”

  “He’ll change his mind by morning and forget all about sending us away.”

  “Not this time. Dilly meant every word. And he’s
threatening divorce.” She sank into a chair, gripping the arms. “What time does the stage leave for Big Pine?”

  “Early afternoon. Why? What are you planning?”

  Mouth twisting into a sneer, she narrowed her gaze. “I spoke to Doctor McCord earlier today. He told me Charles plans to work in the clinic tomorrow morning.”

  “Which means Clare will be alone.”

  She shot him a feral grin. “An easy target.”

  Oliver’s eyes widened. “You’re not thinking of using a gun, are you?”

  Pauline shook her head. “Of course I won’t be using a gun. You will.”

  “Me? That’s ridiculous. Everyone within fifty yards will hear the shot. I’d never make it out of her house before someone came to see what happened.”

  Standing, she walked to him, gripped his shoulders, and shook him. “Think, Ollie. You’re an excellent shot.” Dropping her arms, she walked back to the chair.

  “With a rifle, not a revolver.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You’ll be inside the house. Probably no more than a few feet away from her. It’s winter, so the windows will all be closed. And you’ll use a pillow to muffle the sound.”

  “A pillow?” Oliver shot back. “That’s outlandish, Mother.”

  “But it will work, my dear. You hold the pillow in front of the barrel and shoot. What could be easier than that?”

  Groaning, he scrubbed a hand down his face. “Poison would be easier and cleaner.” He snapped his fingers. “That’s it. We’ll poison her breakfast.”

  Blowing out an exasperated breath, Pauline glared at her son. “When? She’ll take her breakfast at home with Charles before he leaves for the clinic. Who knows where she’ll be at lunch. If Dilly doesn’t change his mind, we’ll be on the afternoon stage. You have to do it early in the morning after Charles leaves for the clinic.”

  “But I have no weapon.” Oliver’s protest had no impact on his mother.

  Tapping her lips with a finger, her face brightened. “Dilly has a revolver hidden in our room. You’ll use it.”

  Sagging against a wall, he rubbed the back of his neck. He could think of no further arguments, nothing that would change his mother’s mind. She’d nag him until she broke his resolve, the same as she did with anyone who stood in her way. Resigned, he lifted his defeated gaze to her.

  “All right, Mother. We might not live through this, but we’ll do it your way.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Oliver held the gun in a damp hand, hiding in the early morning shadows behind Charles’s house. Once the decision had been made the night before, Pauline had hurried to retrieve the revolver and ammunition from its hiding spot before Dilly returned from the saloon. Handing it to her son, she said nothing more before returning to her room and locking the door.

  He’d been standing in the bitter cold almost an hour, waiting for Charles to depart for the clinic. If the doctor didn’t leave soon, Oliver wouldn’t have time to slip into the house, kill Clare, and sneak away before someone spotted him.

  His body stiffened, hand tightening on the handle at the sound of a door closing. Peering around the corner, he saw Charles cross the short distance to the back door of the clinic. Heart pounding, Oliver sucked in a deep, fortifying breath, hoping it would help him get through the next few minutes.

  The house to the left of Charles’s home belonged to Doctor McCord, the one on the right was unoccupied. Behind the house were several unfinished buildings waiting for the warm days of spring to be completed. No one had passed by the entire time Oliver had been posted at the back. There wouldn’t be a better time to complete their plans.

  Moving slowly along the rear wall, he stopped at the back door, peeking through a nearby window. Clare stood at the wood stove, stirring a pot sitting on top. She paid no attention to anything except the work in front of her.

  Gripping the doorknob, he turned it, thankful it didn’t squeak a warning. Looking down at the gun in his other hand, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. Clare’s back was to him, having no suspicion her life was about to end.

  Lifting the gun, he couldn’t stop his hand from shaking at the weight of the weapon and the stark fear rippling through him. Placing a finger on the trigger, he began to squeeze, stopping when Clare whirled around to stare at him.

  Eyes wide, she opened her mouth to scream when a shot rang out, a sharp pain rocking her backward. Slamming against a wall, she couldn’t stop herself from sinking to the floor. Glancing down, she stared in shock at the bright splotch of red spreading over her chest.

  Pain scorched through her, blinding her vision as Clare lifted her gaze to stare at the young man standing before her. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t recall his name. A smoking gun shook in the hand held limp at his side, a look of horror on his face. She thought he opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t be sure.

  Another jolt of pain gripped her. Clare tried to push herself up, but it wasn’t to be. Her thoughts went to Charles, their beautiful wedding, the deep love for the man who’d become her husband, and the plans they’d shared. A future she now realized they’d never experience. Sliding into unconsciousness, his name whispered across her lips.

  “Charles…”

  Panicking, Oliver dropped the gun on the floor, whipping around to dash out the back door. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. A loud shout sounded in the distance, but he didn’t care.

  Run, he thought, his boots slogging through ground thick with a mixture of snow and mud.

  The pounding sound of boots closed in on him from behind. From the front, people screaming at him to stop had no effect. He continued to run, his only thought of escape.

  Before he had time to think further, strong arms banded around his chest, throwing him to the ground. Blinking, he looked up, staring into hard features, piercing eyes the color of molten lead.

  “What the hell did you do?” Mack’s commanding question and unrelenting stare had Oliver trying to retreat into himself. When he shook his head, Mack grabbed him by the front of his coat, pulled him up, and shoved him at Hex.

  Catching Oliver, Hex nodded toward the doc’s house. “I’ve got him. You go help Zeke.”

  Hex and his brother had been taking their last, early morning walk through town when a shot rang out. A moment later, a man dashed from the Worthington’s back door, not stopping at the shouts from the deputies. Hex continued the chase while Zeke ran inside the house.

  Slamming open the door, Mack stepped into the kitchen, his gaze landing on Zeke hovered over a woman slumped against a wall. Pressing a hand to the wound on her chest, he looked up at Mack.

  “Cash is getting Doc Worthington, but…” Zeke’s voice trailed off as he glanced back at Clare, continuing to put pressure on the wound.

  Mack knelt beside him. “But?”

  Zeke shook his head, not looking up. “It may be too late. Tell me you got the man who did this.”

  “We did.” Mack jumped up, drawing his gun at the sound of the front door crashing open.

  “Where is she?” Charles yelled as he walked through the living room toward the kitchen. Seeing blood on the floor and wall, Clare slumped on the floor, he dropped to his knees. Taking in her condition, he shoved Zeke’s hands away, replacing them with his own. “See what’s taking Clay so long.”

  An instant later, Clay hurried into the house, carrying his medical bag. Taking in the scene, he moved Mack and Zeke out of the way, dropping to Clare’s other side.

  “Is the bullet still in her?”

  Charles didn’t answer, all his concentration on keeping her alive while pressing on the wound.

  “Doctor,” Clay said louder. “Did the bullet pass through her?”

  Swallowing, Charles moved his hand long enough for him to see the bullet still lodged in her chest. “It’s still in her, but it looks to be closer to her shoulder.”

  Opening his bag, Clay removed instruments, a small jar of cerate, and bandages. “I need water and whiskey.”
He glanced at Charles. “I can handle this if you want to wait in the living room.”

  A hard glare met Clay’s offer. “No. I’m staying.” Forcing a calm he didn’t feel, Charles stared at Clare. “Let’s save her, Doctor.”

  “I didn’t want to do it. It was Mother’s idea.” Oliver sat on the bed in his cell, hands covering his face as he rocked back and forth. “It’s not my fault.” Moaning, he looked up, his features drawn, eyes haunted. “It’s not even my gun.”

  Gabe leaned against the wall separating the cells from the front of the jail. Caleb and Mack stood next to him.

  “I brought the gun he used, Gabe. It’s on your desk.” Mack jerked a thumb toward the desk.

  Nodding, Gabe walked to the door of the cell. “Whose gun is it?”

  “My stepfather’s. Dilly Bacon.”

  Caleb jerked at the name. Stepping next to Gabe, he gripped the bars, his voice low and menacing. “Did Dilly order you to shoot Clare?”

  Oliver raised his head, his face a mask of confusion. “I told you. My mother is the one who wanted her killed.”

  “Pauline?” Caleb asked.

  He gave a curt nod. “Yes.”

  “But why?”

  Oliver looked at Caleb, as if seeing him for the first time. “For money, of course.”

  May sat next to her father in the front part of the jail, listening to Pauline rant and Oliver sob. Caleb stood next to her, his hand resting on her shoulder.

  “You do recognize this gun, Mr. Bacon?” Gabe pointed to the six-shooter on his desk.

  “Yes. I hadn’t known it was missing until Caleb came to tell me what happened.” He dragged a hand down his face. “Is Mrs. Worthington going to be all right?”

  “We haven’t heard.” Gabe rested his arms on the desk. “But your wife and stepson better pray she lives.”

  Rubbing his forehead, Dilly shook his head. “I told Pauline we’d be divorcing once we returned home. Do you think that’s why she did this?”