Dorothy Garlock - [Wyoming Frontier] (42 page)

Helga laughed.
Laughed.
Rowe didn’t think he’d ever heard her laugh. She looked younger, her hair was less tidy than usual, and her eyes had a glow in them.

“Do you two always bicker like this?” Helga’s eyes twinkled. “We’ve got a lot to tell you, Garrick, but first I would be grateful for a drink of water. It’s a long dusty ride from Virginia City.”

“Come into the saloon. It’s usually empty this time of day.”

Rowe lifted the valises out of the buggy and set them on the porch. He called to Taylor, who had come out of the hotel when the buggy approached.

“Taylor, will you take care of the horse and buggy? The buggy can go into the lean-to beside the livery.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rowe reached into his pocket for a coin. “Ask your mother to prepare a room for the lady, then take her bags to it.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Rowe, but you don’t have to pay me—”

“I’ll pay you for this, but later we’ll have a talk about putting you on a monthly salary if you’re going to be handyman.”

“Yes,
sir
!”

“But first, go fetch my wife. She’s visiting Mrs. Chandler.” Rowe took Helga’s elbow and walked with her to the steps leading to the saloon/hotel. “Katy will want to welcome you too.”

“Anton told me you were married. I hope you’ll be happy, Garrick.”

“I am, Helga. Far happier than I ever imagined a man could be.” He looked down into Helga’s blue eyes and said simply, “Katy’s my life.”

“She’s a lucky woman.”

The saloon was empty. Helga looked around with the curiosity of a woman who has never been in a saloon before. She was surprised to see that it looked quite ordinary. Rowe led her to a table in the corner. After she and Anton were seated, he went behind the bar and brought glasses of cool water. She took a long drink, dabbed at her mouth with her handkerchief and reached out to place her hand on Rowe’s.

“Justin is dead.”

Rowe looked at Anton.

“I didn’t do it,” Anton said quickly. “Not that I didn’t want to. It was an accident.”

Katy came into the saloon and headed straight for Rowe. She wore her hair in a single braid hanging to her hips. Her skirt was full, gathered on a band at her waist. With her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, she looked young, healthy, and extremely happy and carefree. She had seen the buggy come into town and was on her way to the saloon when Taylor found her. Rowe stood and put his arm around her, pulling her possessively close to his side.

“Honey, Anton and Helga have brought news that Justin met with an accident and is dead.”

The smile fell from Katy’s lips. She looked at the calm, clear-eyed face of Helga Rowe and was puzzled by the lack of grief she found there.

“Oh . . .” Katy glanced up at Rowe, then back to Helga. “I don’t know what to say, Mrs. Rowe. I saw your husband only one time.”

“You don’t have to say anything, my dear. The circumstances are not . . . the usual.”

Rowe pulled a chair up close to his and Katy sat down, holding his hand in her lap.

“Hello, Anton.”

“Hello, Katy. Is he treating you all right?” Anton’s eyes behind the lens of his glasses took on a mischievous glitter.

“I’ll just say I’ve learned how to handle him.” A bubble of laughter burst from her lips just before she clamped her hand over her mouth. Her eyes went to Rowe’s face. She was embarrassed to be laughing at a time when he had just learned his brother was dead. His dark eyes, devouring her face, were a mirror of love and pride. He gently pulled her hand from her mouth and raised it to his lips.

“We’ve learned how to handle each other,” he said gently, lovingly, as if just to her.

Helga broke the silence that followed. “I don’t think I could have endured these last few weeks without Anton.” Her eyes clouded with the pain of remembering.

Anton shrugged, tried to act nonchalant and bored, but he failed. His eyes, concerned and caring, kept darting to Helga’s pleading ones. Finally he reached for her hand and held it tightly, his love for her overcoming his reluctance to publicly express his affection.

“Let me tell it, Helgy.”

In his slow, plodding way, Anton told every detail of the past few weeks in Virginia City right up to the night Justin went over the railing at the back of the hotel.

“It was good-thinking to get Ian to George,” Rowe mused. “Justin seemed to get more unreasonable as the years went by.”

“He just went crazy on whatever dope he was getting from the Doll House,” Anton said. “He went downhill fast in only a few weeks’ time.”

“That surprises me. He never even drank much, that I know of.” Rowe honestly felt regret that his brother was dead, but he couldn’t feel grief. “Did you have any problem with the marshal?”

“None. The hotel clerk and his helper knew we were not near him when he went out the back door.”

“We buried him on the hill,” Helga added. “Anton left instructions for a marker—for Ian’s sake.”

Rowe nodded. “The boy should know about his father.”

“Your friend, Nan Neal, was wonderful to me, Garrick. She stayed with me from the time we found Justin until after the funeral. Anton took care of everything.”

“Thanks, Anton. It should have been my place to do it.”

Anton shrugged.

“It’s sad that a man should live forty years and have only three people attend his burial,” Helga said.

“There will be the estate to settle.” Rowe placed his arm across Katy’s shoulder and his hand moved up and down her arm. “Do you know if Justin had a will?”

“I don’t know one thing about Justin’s affairs.”

“There’s something else Helgy and I have to tell you, Rowe.” Anton pulled an envelope out of his pocket. “Justin got hold of a letter sent to you by the Pinkerton Agency. Helgy thinks this is what set him off on the road to self-destruction. It sounds to me like it’s information the agent found while he was working for Justin. For some reason known only to him, the agent mailed the report to you.”

Rowe read it slowly, then read it again. The only change in his expression was a furrowing of his eyebrows. He placed the letter on the table and reached to cover Katy’s hand resting on his thigh. He didn’t say anything.

“Rowe?” Katy whispered. “Darling . . . what is it?”

He looked at her, lifted her hand to the table, and held it between both of his.

“He wasn’t my brother. Why am I not surprised?”

“Justin’s mother was already married and pregnant when she married Rowe’s father,” Anton explained. “Justin was born five months after they married, according to the dates recorded.”

“Did Mr. Rowe know that Justin wasn’t his son?” Katy asked.

“Justin’s mother, Marie Englebretson, went to Rhode Island on the pretext of seeing her sick father and stayed until after Justin was born. When she came back, I expect she told Mr. Rowe that Justin was an unusually large baby.”

“What about Justin’s real father?” Katy asked.

“The report says he was a lobster fisherman. Marie left him for richer pastures. He still lives on the coast of Maine.”

“I think father knew,” Rowe said slowly. “He was never able to get close to Justin, although he did his best.”

“Justin was proud of his heritage, or rather, what he thought was his heritage.” Helga spoke in hushed tones. “I think it crushed his spirit when he found out he wasn’t the aristocrat he thought he was and that since he wasn’t really Preston Rowe’s son he stood a chance of losing even his wealth. I feel sorry for him in a way.”

“There was a demon in Justin,” Rowe stated flatly. “He doesn’t deserve your pity. He made your life a living hell, but it’s over.” Rowe carefully tore the letter into small pieces.

“You know what this means in a legal sense, don’t you?” Anton watched as Rowe piled the scraps of paper in a tin lid used to collect cigarette butts and set a match to them. “It means that you can prove you are the only legal heir to Preston Rowe’s fortune. Justin was frantic to keep this knowledge from you.”

Rowe’s dark eyes turned slowly to his friend. “I’ll not contest Papa’s will.”

“I want to give back everything Ian and I will inherit from Justin’s estate,” Helga said quickly. “I don’t want that mansion on the Hudson. I’ll not be able to manage it, or any of Justin’s investments. They would be like a millstone about my neck. My son will be taught to work and to show compassion for those less fortunate than he,” she added firmly.

“Besides that,” Anton’s hand covered Helga’s, “she’ll not need Justin’s money.”

For the first time, a smile curved Rowe’s lips. “So it’s like that, is it?”

“Your fault,” Anton said dryly. “You told me to look after her.”

“Are we invited to the wedding?” Rowe smiled at the rosy blush that covered Helga’s face as she waited for Anton to answer.

“If you want to go back to Virginia City with us.”

Rowe’s fingers drummed on the table and he looked out the door into the bright sunshine for a long moment, his face deep in concentration. So familiar now with his moods and expressions, Katy knew the instant his decision was made. His eyes sought hers.

“Right here is everything in the world that I want.” He searched her face lovingly, before he turned to Helga and Anton. “This is what I would like to do if it’s agreeable with you both. Let’s put the money in a trust for Ian, for any children you two may have, and for the children Katy and I will have, and we’re damn sure going to have some, aren’t we, sweetheart?”

Katy nodded and smiled into his eyes.

Helga looked at Anton for the answer.

“Sounds good to me,” Anton said. “I’m taking Helgy back East to get her boy. We’ll settle the estate while we’re there and set up the trusts. Can you manage here without me until spring?”

“I think so. What do you think, Katy mine?”

“We’ll miss you, Anton, but we’ll manage. I know this isn’t a nice thing to say at a time like this, but I’m relieved that we can get on with the building of our town and not have to worry about Justin coming here and causing trouble.”

“I didn’t know you were worried about him, honey.” Rowe slipped his arm around her again and pulled her close.

“Of course, I was worried. Do you think I take threats against my husband lightly?”

“I told you not to worry,” he said sternly.

She placed the tip of her nose against his. “I’ll worry if I want to. What kind of wife would I be if I didn’t worry about my husband?”

He chuckled softly. “I give up, sweetheart. Worry to your little heart’s content if it will make you happy.” His lips touched hers in a butterfly kiss.

“And I told you that you shouldn’t kiss me in public,” she scolded with laughter in her voice.

“You didn’t say that!”

“You’re lying again, Garrick Rowe! You know good and well I said that. What am I going to do with you?”

Anton coughed. “I thought you’d be over that lovesick, mushy stuff by now.” His tone was one of disgust, but his eyes were twinkling.

“We’ll never get over it.” Katy pressed her cheek tightly to Rowe’s and grinned at Anton saucily. “Well . . . maybe in a thousand years or so.”

Twenty-seven

The sound of a dog barking woke Rowe out of a sound sleep. Slipping his arms from around Katy, he raised up in bed. What in the hell had gotten into Modo? He hadn’t shown that much life in months.

“Arrr-woof! Arrr-woof!”

Rowe got out of bed, reached for his britches and pulled them on.

“Arrr-woof!” Modo’s bark was followed by frantic scratches on the door.

Feeling his way in the dark, Rowe took his rifle off the pegs before he went to lift the bar from across the door and opened it. Instantly, the strong, tangy odor of coal oil assaulted his nostrils.

“Fire! Fire!” The shout came from down near the cook-shack, followed by the clanging of the triangle bell that called the men to meals.

An icy ball of fear grew in the pit of Rowe’s stomach. Light from flames flickered at the bunkhouse and Ashland’s freight shed. Rowe rusbed out into the yard and took a quick look around. Behind and to the right of the cabin he saw a ribbon of traveling flame. He had set enough backfires while trying to contain a forest fire to know that the fire was running along a path of fuel straight for the cabin.

“Katy!” he roared as he sprang back into the cabin. “Katy! Get up! Get your clothes!” Rowe grabbed his boots and Katy’s shoes. “Fire! Hurry!” He jerked the blanket from the bed and wrapped it around her. “Let’s get out of here.”

They ran out the door and down the path. Sticks and rocks cut their bare feet. They were no more than fifty feet away when the traveling flame reached the cabin and the fuel-splashed walls exploded in sheets of flames.

“My God!” Rowe dragged Katy behind a thicket out of the light of the fire and helped her pull her dress down over her head. “Put on your shoes, honey.” He threw himself down on the ground and rammed his feet into his boots.

All the horror of it struck Katy when she saw the angry flames leaping from the top of the cabin and lighting the sky. Rowe grabbed her hand as they ran toward the men pouring out of the bunkhouse, the cookshack, and the hotel.

“Get everyone out of the buildings,” Rowe shouted. “Get everyone out, then get buckets, sacks, axes, shovels. Someone start pulling water from the well.”

“What can I do?” Katy gasped.

“Get the women. Every hand will be needed to pass the buckets.”

Katy raced toward the funerary, grateful that the fire had not spread to that end of town. In the flickering light from the burning buildings, she saw men pulling hames, horse collars, traces, single and double trees, and anything they could carry from Ashland’s burning tack-shed. Other men were dragging empty wagons away from the building. Katy ran past Elias who was pounding on the door of the newspaper office where Laura and Julia lived. A light shone from the eatery, so she knew the Chandlers had been alerted.

The flames had set the woods afire around the cabin where she and Rowe lived, and smoke filled air made heavy by low-hanging clouds.

Hank and Mary came hurrying down the street. Hank carried Theresa; Mary a lantern.

“Thank God, you’re safe!” Mary exclaimed. “We could see your cabin! Where’s Rowe?”