Velvet Thunder (21 page)

But Erica wasn't uppermost in his mind as the miles drifted by. He was puzzled by Stevie's behavior. No matter what he did, how many times he sought her comfort in the face of Erica's verbal harangue, Stevie ignored him. All he wanted was a kind word. If not a kind word, then a small smile.

Sighing heavily, he shifted in the saddle and tried to tune out Erica's wailing. Optimistically, he looked ahead to when he and Stevie would be alone. He would demand an explanation for her aloof behavior . . . and insist that she rush back into his arms as surely as she had rushed into his heart.

“Listen,” Stevie whispered.

Heath pulled alongside her. “What is it, hon?”

“I don't hear anything,” Erica whined. “How much longer before we stop for the night? I'm tired and hungry.”

Heath and Stevie summarily ignored her.

Stevie turned her head sharply. “Hear that?”

“I'm hot,” Erica groused.

Stevie and Heath both glared at her. “Hush,” they hissed in unison.

Heath spoke over Erica's outrage. “Sounds like someone's crying. A woman.”

Stevie slid from her mount and headed in the direction of the faint whimpering sound.

Heath dismounted and pulled his Colt. “Wait, sugar.” She had disappeared. He followed her trail through the thick undergrowth. With each step the whimpering grew louder and—thank the good Lord—Erica's voice grew dimmer.

When Heath stepped into the clearing, he was smiling. For the first time in hours he couldn't hear the sound of Erica's voice.

But in the space of a second his expression jelled into one of shock, his mind trying desperately to deny the scene before him. Taut with tension, his heart slammed against his ribs. “Oh, my God!” he uttered, making his way across the clearing. “Honey?”

His luminous eyes widened. Stevie's actions claimed his undivided attention. He stood there, for how long he didn't know, shaken, mesmerized, fascinated, watching as she labored skillfully over a frail Indian girl . . . who was obviously in the last, agonizing throes of childbirth.

Robert Pridgen sat on the boardinghouse portico, drinking his morning coffee, watching the activities in town with a jaundiced eye.

To the dismay of Pridgen and the other permanent residents of Adobe Wells, the size of the miners' camp had doubled in a week. Speculators, prospectors, carpenters, freighters, and cowpunchers had streamed into town on horseback and wagons in record number. Striking tent on the first bare spot of earth they could find, each group was rougher than the last. All drawn by whispers of gold, silver, even diamonds.

A heavy rain the night before had turned the dusty road in front of Pilar's boardinghouse into a mud trough. Wagons along Main Street bogged down halfway to their axles, cutting deep ruts into the streets. Dangerous-looking men slopped in knee-deep mud, cursing the black gumbo.

Scantily dressed whores wended their way through the murky soup, trailing the men, in the event that some uncouth miner, successful in his efforts, would part with a bit of whatever it was that Judge Jack had promised him in this godforsaken corner of the country.

Pridgen suspected that all the fools would get for their labors was a stiff back. Then they would leave as quickly as they had come. Disappearing overnight, shaking the dust—or mud, as the case may be—from Adobe Wells off their feet.

The small western town would resemble a turkey carcass the day after Thanksgiving. Bare, bereft, as if a hoard of scavengers had fed upon it and cast the slick, naked bones aside.

The prospect enraged Pridgen. But it was the foreboding that hovered over Adobe Wells, humming with violence, rank with the scent of death that frightened him. Scared the hell out of him.

A shrill scream drew his attention. The hair-raising sound came from across the plaza. Two drunk miners spilled into the street, pounding each other with bloody fists. They fought over a whore who had emerged with them, obviously to watch her suitors settle their dispute. Shouting obscenities, the brawlers battled feverishly.

Pridgen found the affair disgusting! He rose, leaned heavily on his cane, and limped down the portico to get a better view of the drunken brawl. Three men bounded down the courthouse steps, carrying a red, white, and blue banner, stretched it across the street, then attached it to buildings on either side.

Brawlers forgotten, Pridgen's lips moved as he read the banner silently.

“I'll be damned!”

Ted Reno poked his head out the door with a cup of coffee pressed to his forehead. “Morning, Mr. Pridgen.” His western drawl was husky, slightly slurred.

Pridgen swung his gaze in Ted's direction. The man was tall, redheaded, freckle-faced, looked as though he should have a frog in his pocket rather than a six-shooter on his hip.

Squirming under Pridgen's perusal, the marshal surveyed his town with a nervous glance. The brawl that had gained Pridgen's attention was winding down, another one begun just as quickly. Ted hoped the paralyzing fear he experienced at seeing the violence didn't show on his face. “I'm surprised to see how much the town has changed in the few days I've been away . . . on business.” His bloodshot eyes and trembling hands hinted at the nature of his business.

Pridgen tried to keep his voice light. “What kind of business?”

“Went to Santa Fe to see Sheriff Todd. Stopped off at Delgado's.” Ted's lips curved in a boyish grin. “Got in a little fishing.”

Pridgen couldn't help but return his smile. Marshal Ted Reno was a kid, pure and simple. Unfortunately, he was all that stood between the residents of Adobe Wells and Judge Jack. The town was in serious trouble. “Yep, things changed while you were gone. And not for the better.”

Reno shifted from foot to foot. “So I see.” He paused, searching for courage that was nowhere to be found. “Guess I better check in at the office,” he said with little enthusiasm.

“Be careful, son,” Pridgen advised.

He liked Ted Reno even though Judge Jack appointed him sheriff. The boy was honest as the day is long. If only he were a little more mature, a bit more accomplished with a gun, he mused. Damn. He would rest easier when Lucky and Stevie got back to town. The old man frowned harshly, wondering what was taking those two so long. Sandy was fit to be tied, understandably so.

 

 

Ted strolled across the plaza toward his office. His body tense, his eyes darted nervously about the town. Silently, he scolded himself for being fearful. Adobe Wells needed a brave lawman. Not a snot-nosed kid scared to walk the streets of his own town in broad daylight. Mentally shaking himself, he squared his shoulders. A shot exploded behind him and he almost lost control of his bodily functions.

A quick look told him that the blast had come from a couple of kids shooting off fireworks. “Chicken! Damn coward,” he berated himself, his self-esteem a foot lower than a snake's belly.

Engrossed in self-chastisement, Ted failed to see a covered carriage stop in front of the courthouse. The driver jumped down from the box, quickly opened the door, and helped a brilliantly dressed female alight. How on earth could he have overlooked this woman? Ted would ask himself later. From the top of her fire-engine-red coiffure to the tips of her magenta leather slippers, she was a study of harsh color. She wore no soothing pastels as most ladies did, but brash, vibrant colors, the kind usually reserved for decorating high-priced bordellos.

Ted accidentally bumped into her as she made her way across the boardwalk. “Beg pardon, ma'am,” he apologized, clutching her forearm in an attempt to steady her. “Guess I was daydreaming and didn't see you.” He blessed her with his boyish grin.

“Damn idiot!” She rapped his knuckles with her parasol. “Why don't you watch where you're going?”

The marshal was clearly taken aback, as was the disheveled miner watching the scene from the shadowy alley between the courthouse and the jail.

“I'm sorry I bumped into you, ma'am.” Ted's voice cracked, whether from youth or embarrassment, the emerald-eyed miner couldn't tell. “But that don't give you no call to cuss me.” Ted drew himself up with false pride. “I'm the law hereabouts.”

Rachel drew back her hand and slapped him soundly across the face.

He cupped his stinging cheek. “You can't do that.”

Just to prove that she could, she slapped him again on the other cheek. “If you're the law in this town, I pity the people who live here.”

Ted's jaw fell open in shock and embarrassment. When he stared into her face, a flicker of recognition flashed in his eyes.

Rachel suddenly stiffened.

“Reno!” A loud voice boomed from the doorway of the courthouse.

Judge Jack and Henry Sims stepped down onto the boardwalk. Twin scowls darkened their faces. “Is there a problem here, Rachel?” the judge asked softly.

“This boy accosted me right here on the street. If you hadn't come when you did, I shudder to think what he would have done.” She summoned a delicate tremor.

Ted looked at her with genuine regret. “I'm sorry, ma'am. I wouldn't ever hurt a lady.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“No'm. I mean yes—”

“Shut up, you stupid fool. And get out of here before I drill you right on the street,” Sims threatened.

Ted looked from Sims to Judge Jack.

Judge Jack sketched a curt nod. “Do like he says.”

Eyes downcast, Ted hurried off.

The hidden miner, having witnessed the entire episode, was disgusted. Things in Adobe Wells were worse than he thought. Somebody
had
to do something. But his hands were tied now that Rachel was in town. Where the hell was Heath? That was the question occupying his mind as he slipped into the courthouse, following Judge Jack and Rachel at a safe distance.

 

 

Judge Jack escorted Rachel through the courtroom to his chambers in the back. Closing the door behind him, he leaned against it. “My dear Rachel, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Ostensibly, I'm here to help prepare for the governor's visit. In reality, I'm here to pass on vital information . . . information that will affect our deal.”

He gestured to a rose velvet tufted sofa. “Have a seat.”

When they were settled, she continued. “Elanzo Welch's report created quite a stir with Governor Casson. Written on stationery from his San Francisco office, it squashed almost all skepticism about the mine. How did you convince Mr. Welch to lie?”

“He didn't lie.” Jack was smug. “He examined the diamonds I bought from South Africa. The genuine diamonds. He merely reported what he saw. Of course, he didn't know that they didn't come from the cave in Adobe Wells.” He winked. “That's our little secret.”

“It may not be our secret for long. August ninth, one day before the governor's visit, a man named Layard Shackelford will arrive in Adobe Wells, requesting—on behalf of the governor—immediate access to the mine for a surprise on-the-spot inspection.”

A muscle in Jack's eye twitched. “Who in hell is Layard Shackelford?”

“An engineer from the California Department of Mines. I don't need to tell you that he could cause us a hell of a lot of trouble. But if we can convince him that the mine is genuine, nobody, including the governor, will have any further doubts.”

Jack rose and walked over to the window.

Unable to hear through the closed door, the miner trailing Jack and Rachel had exited the courthouse and hidden beneath the window at which Judge Jack stood. He barely had time to glue himself to the wall before the judge looked through the rain-streaked pane.

“Does anyone in the governor's office or in Santa Fe know Mr. Shackelford personally?” Jack asked.

“I don't think so. He never leaves California.”

“Do you know his travel schedule?”

“I'm the one who arranged it.”

Jack turned back toward Rachel in surprise.

She grinned like the proverbial cat who had eaten the canary. “Sometimes I help my husband by arranging travel plans for dignitaries. This time, I insisted on it.”

“I knew I made the right decision bringing you in on this deal. You are proving to be very handy.”

“As I recall, you didn't have much choice.” Smiling, Rachel pulled a slip of paper from her purse. She joined Jack at the window and related Shackelford's schedule. “He'll arrive in Santa Fe on August seventh. Spend the eighth meeting with Governor Casson and Mr. Clark. Early on the ninth, he'll catch the stage to Adobe Wells, arriving here about noon.”

“No, he won't.”

The miner beneath the window listened intently, barely breathing.

“How are you going to stop him?” Rachel asked.

“James Filmore, disguised as Shackelford, will survey the mine and announce that it is the most productive diamond strike ever to have been made in this country.”

“Filmore?”

“He's an actor I've retained on occasion. He's well educated and has all the sophistication of a San Francisco professional. And absolutely no scruples whatsoever.”

“Dare I ask what you will do to Shackelford?”

“I won't do anything to him. 'Course, I can't speak for Sims,” the judge quipped.

Rachel laughed low in her throat. The sound was pure evil. Her eyes sparkled with menace. “There's something else I want to tell you.” She cocked her head to the side, as if mentally flipping through files of vital, top secret information.

Jack knew she was playing with him, wanting him to hang on her every word. He merely crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

She tried to hide her exasperation at his nonchalance. The information would get a rise out of him even if her dramatics didn't. “Governor Casson has persuaded a group of investors to buy out your interest in the mine, that is, if Shackelford gives a positive report of the mine.” She smiled and watched Jack calculate the revenue his sale might bring.

“Casson thinks this diamond strike will bring the territory of New Mexico to statehood. But he doesn't want you to process the diamonds. He's afraid you don't have enough capital to follow through.”

“I knew the pompous windbag was greedy.”

“That he is. He's bringing the other investors with him on the tenth. They plan to form a ten-million-dollar corporation. The San Francisco and New York Mining and Commercial Company. The plan's to offer you two million dollars for your interest in the mine.”

It would have been hard to say who was more pleased, Rachel or Judge Jack. Their plot was coming to an end more quickly and more successfully than they had anticipated. For a while they were silent, each contemplating what the future might bring.

Finally, they began speculating verbally on what they would do with their share of the money. They would go to New York. Rachel planned to buy a boutique, specializing in the latest fashions from Paris. She would change her name, dress like a queen, and move among the upper echelons of society. Jay Hampton would never find her there, she added silently.

Jack would belong to an exclusive men's club and become a well-known collector of fine guns and blooded horse flesh. His silent declaration was that he would seduce the kind of women who were not available to him now. Not sluts like Rachel, but ladies like the upstanding widow, Pilar Manchez, and the illusive Miss Stevie Johns. When he tired of them, he would reveal to the world what they were. He would prove that all women were whores at heart . . . a truism his prostitute mother had taught him all too well.