Chasing the Sun (21 page)

To see all that. To be up there so high. To be that free.

“You’re not going to jump, are you?”

The spell broke. With a sigh, Jack turned and gave his brother a weary smile. “Not today.”

“Well, good. That’s good.”

They stood in silence for a moment, enjoying the view. Then Hank said, “Because if you are considering it, there’s something I probably ought to tell you before you do.”

Seeing the seriousness of his brother’s expression, Jack mentally braced himself. “What?”

“I always liked you better than Brady.”

Jack blinked at him, the words so unexpected they were slow to sink in. When they finally did, he started laughing so hard he almost lost his balance and fell off the cliff.

Twelve

“DAMN THINGS DRIVE ME CRAZY,” JACK MUTTERED, SWATTING a fly from his face.

He and Hank were on their way back down from the ledge, and had stopped at a small spring to let the horses drink. With the days growing warmer, the flies were on the hunt, plaguing anything with a pulse. Another thing Jack didn’t miss when he was at sea. “Ever think of leaving?”

“Leaving where?”

“The ranch.”

“Because of the flies?”

“Because of anything. I figured you’d have moved on by now.” Hank had always gone his own way, and he’d never seemed that attached to the ranch.

“Molly likes it here. We’re all the family she has left.”

“What about you? Don’t you have a need to know what’s out there behind those mountains?”

“Not particularly. I got what I need right here.” Hank tapped his index finger against his temple. “Seeing new things doesn’t interest me as much as thinking up new things. And I can do that wherever.”

“So you never plan to leave?” The idea of staying in this valley for an entire lifetime left Jack feeling a little short of breath.

Hank gave it some thought then shrugged. “Without the mines to oversee, I might. There’s a man in Santa Fe who’s working on a pressurized drilling apparatus. I’d like to talk to him. And maybe take a look at some of the mining techniques they’re using up in Colorado.”

“Sounds exciting,” Jack lied. Once their horses had taken their fill of water, he and Hank reined them back onto the trail. They rode without speaking for a time, then Jack said, “I don’t think Daisy would like staying here on a permanent basis.” At least, he hoped not.

“You ask her? That why she hit you?”

Jack grinned and shook his head, his temper having cooled enough that he could see the stupidity of what he’d done. “She hit me because I asked her to sell me Kate.”

Hank gave such a bark of laughter it startled the horses into a sidestep.

“It must wear you out,” he said, once the animals had settled back down, “to carry such a big brain around all day.”

“Go to hell.”

“I do believe you’re even dumber about women than Brady is.”

“Surely not that dumb.” If so, Jack might have to shoot himself. “But I will admit I’ve never been confronted with a more hardheaded woman. No matter what I say or do, Daisy seems set against me, and I have no idea why.”

Hank looked at him.

“I know,” Jack agreed, even though Hank hadn’t yet spoken. “You’re thinking it’s because of Elena. But I already told her that Elena will be gone soon and I’ll never see her again, so I don’t know why she’s still upset.”

“Hmm.”

Jack nodded. “You’re right about that. Women are abso-damn-lutely nothing but trouble. Be helpful if they made sense once in a while so a fellow could figure out what to do.”

Leaning forward, Hank flicked a horsefly off his gelding’s neck.

“Still.” Jack scratched his neck and sighed. “You probably think I should keep at her.”

“Looks to be an itchy year,” Hank observed, eyeing the mosquito orgies in the puddles of water left by the melting snow.

“Maybe I should use humor,” Jack mused. “Daisy always enjoyed a bit of a laugh. I could wear her down with humor and make myself so goddamn charming she’ll fall quivering at my feet.” He smiled, liking the idea of that.

Hank said nothing.

The horses picked up the pace when they smelled home, and by the time they came to the arched gate, they were feeling perky again and Jack’s confidence was restored.

He’d figured out what to do. He’d be charming and persistent. He’d apologize when necessary and grovel when he had to. But mostly he would make her laugh. As far as women were concerned, that was the second best thing he did.

He reined in. “I’m going to Val Rosa.”

“Now?”

“I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. Don’t let Daisy leave. No matter what she says, just don’t let her leave until I get back.” Jack grinned at his brother’s skeptical expression. “Relax. I’m not running off.”

“I hope not. I’d hate to have to come after you. Brady’s still got the quarantine up so remember to change horses at the checkpoint.”

“I will.” With a nod, Jack turned west and kicked the chestnut into a lope.

It was full dark when Jack rode into Val Rosa. He hadn’t seen the town since he’d gone after Elena three years ago, but even in the dim light shining through a window here and there, he could tell it hadn’t changed much. Same saloons and whorehouses, Val Rosa Hotel on the right side of Main Street, Milford’s Emporium and General Store on the left. In the middle, The People’s Bank, and up by the sheriff’s office, the jail and one-room courthouse. Except for the hotel and the drinking and whoring establishments, all were closed for the night.

As he rode down Main Street, he studied the horses tied to the hitching rails outside the various businesses that catered to vice. All seemed healthy enough, so maybe the reports that the horse flu was over were right.

Cutting through an alley, he rode on to the livery, which was situated at the end of town, across from the laundry and bathhouse and next to the smithy. The barn was dark, but he knew the owner, Clem—assuming he was still alive—and rather than wake the old man, Jack dismounted and led his horse through the open double doors. There was enough moonlight to show him the way to an empty stall in the back. After stripping off the saddle, he began rubbing down his substitute horse with a scrap of burlap, then froze when he felt the unmistakable hard edge of a gun barrel between his shoulder blades.

Keeping his hands in sight, he straightened slowly and in a friendly voice said, “I’m hoping that’s you, Clem.”

“State yer name.” The speaker punctuated the question with a hard jab of the gun barrel. “And you better have a ding-dang good reason for skulking around in my livery.”

“Jack Wilkins. And I’m just looking to bed my horse down for the night.”

“Jack Wilkins? The one who ran off after that Mexican woman?” The pressure between Jack’s shoulder blades eased. “Heard you were back.”

Letting his hands fall to his sides, Jack turned. Pasting on a smile, he nodded to Clem, then glanced down at the rifle the old man still held in a ready grip, although thankfully, it was now pointed at the dirt floor, rather than at Jack’s spine. “Expecting trouble?” he asked.

“Goddamn epizootic.” The hostler let out a huff of breath and relaxed his arm so that the gun dangled from one hand by his side. “Folks are so desperate for horses they’ll steal anything with four hooves. I’ve already had two good mules stolen from my own goddamn barn. Hell, they’re probably in Mexico by now. Goddamn horse thieves.” The old man leaned over and spit into the straw. “You want grain or hay?”

“Both.”

After leaning the rifle against an upright post, Clem ducked into his feed room. A moment later, he came out with a lit lantern, which he hung on a hook outside the stall, and a gallon can of sweet feed, which he dumped into a wooden box attached to the inside wall. “What happened to your eye?”

“Ran into something.”

Clem gave a cackling laugh that ended in a cough. “A fist, by the looks of it. Got any sick horses out your way?”

“Not yet. Hopefully the worst of it is over.”

“Probably is.” Clem crossed to the feed room, tossed the empty can inside, secured the door, then went on to the mound of hay piled in the back of the barn, speaking over his shoulder as he went. “But that don’t bring the dead horses back. Whole damned country’s on foot.” Returning with an armful of hay, he dumped it into the corner of the gelding’s stall. After closing the door, he slid the bolt home and dusted his hands. He gave Jack a considering look. “Heard your brother was selling some of his fancy crossbreeds to the Army.”

Jack shrugged. The horses were Brady’s business and Jack didn’t feel comfortable discussing them.

“Breeding stock too?” the old man prodded.

“You’ll have to talk to my brother about that. How much do I owe you?”

After they’d settled up, Jack said he’d need his horse saddled and ready by nine the next morning, told Clem good night, and went to the hotel.

It hadn’t changed much either, although Jack was surprised and pleased to note that with their newfound wealth, the Wilkins family got first choice on the best suite in the house—no extra charge.

He was going to miss being rich.

Since the hotel dining room was closed for the night, he headed down the boardwalk to the saloon he had frequented in the past whenever he was in town, and ordered a bowl of chili and a shot of whiskey. The chili was rank and the whiskey raw—no change there either—and recognizing neither of the two drifters at the bar, nor any of the three old men playing poker at a table in the corner, as soon as he finished eating, he paid up and headed back to the hotel.

He wondered if Val Rosa had always been this boring, or if he was just showing his age.

Morning came in a blast of light. Since the town backed up to an east-facing bluff, daybreak seemed to come from all sides—sunshine from the east, and the reflection off the caliche bluffs from the west. In summer, it felt like being trapped in an oven.

But at nine o’clock, as Jack headed to the livery after a robust breakfast in the hotel dining room, the sun felt welcome and warm in the chilly morning air. After exchanging a few words with Clem, he rode on to the telegraph office, where he sent a wire to his bank in San Francisco. He wasn’t sure how much was in his account there, but it had been growing rapidly over the last three years due to his investments in cargo and shipping. He was even part owner of the clipper he’d come in on, and the bales of wool it had carried back from the sheep stations in Australia would bring a tidy profit. But today, he only requested a thousand dollars, figuring that would be enough to start. After waiting until he got back a telegram confirming the money was on the way, he rode on to the bank.

It hadn’t changed much either, Jack thought as he stepped out of the morning glare into the cool silence inside. Harold Lockley had been the bank manager when Jack had left, and apparently he still was, judging by the black lettering on the door behind the teller’s cage. Jack wondered why he had sold their smelter loan to Blake, then pushed the thought aside. It wasn’t his problem. Brady had made that abundantly clear.

This early, the bank was empty except for a thin-necked, bespectacled fellow wearing an open-crowned visor on his head and protective cuffs on his sleeves, who was watching him warily from behind the barred teller window.

The bars, Jack supposed, were to give the illusion to customers that their money was safe. But the way banks were wobbling since Grant had signed the Coinage Act, and the way the railroads were faltering due to overbuilding and corruption, the bars might come in handy to protect the tellers as well.

“Morning.” He leaned forward to read the engraved brass name-plate pinned to the man’s suspender, then straightened. “Mr. Lomax. I’m Jack Wilkins. I’d like to open an account, using this to set up a line of credit until the rest of the money gets here.” He slipped the confirmation telegram into the tray below the bars.

The teller read it carefully, then looked up to give Jack a thorough study through eyes that looked huge behind his spectacles. “Jack Wilkins? Of Wilkins Cattle and Mining?”

“The same.”

Lomax frowned. With an ink-stained finger, he pushed the wire-framed glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. “Your brothers have already set up an account—”

Jack held up a hand to stop him. “This is separate, Mr. Lomax. It has nothing to do with the ranch or mines. And I’ll need five hundred dollars in cash today.”

The huge eyes disappeared then reappeared as the man blinked at him. “Out of this account and not the other?” The man looked confused, but maybe that was just a distortion caused by the spectacles.

“This account. Will that be a problem?” Jack glanced at the closed door behind the teller. “Maybe I should talk to Lockley.”

“Oh, no,” Lomax said hurriedly. “It’s just, well ... never mind.” He smiled, showing a lot of small, perfectly aligned teeth. “I’ll get it for you now, sir.”

Five minutes later, with the five-hundred-dollar bribe tucked safely in his pocket, Jack headed back to the ranch.

It was just past two when he rode up to the barn. After tending his horse, he went inside to find the house quiet, as it usually was in the early afternoon in deference to the sleeping babies. Knowing Daisy was probably upstairs putting Kate down for her nap, Jack stopped by the kitchen first and cajoled Consuelo into fixing him a plate of ham and eggs.