Colorado Sam (21 page)

   Nathan awakened with a start to discover Mr. Ming stoking the wood stove. Sunlight streamed through the window and pooled on Sam's old blanket bed. He wasn't surprised how deeply he missed the huge hound. It was strangely akin to losing an arm. 

   “Master sleep many hours. Ming bring tea?”

   Nathan licked dry lips and swallowed. “If you will, please. How's Mrs. Tanner?'

   “She resting. Sleep all time,” Mr. Ming answered, hustling from the room.

   Nathan was sorry he'd awakened, for Devlin Kellerman's telegram sprang to mind before his feet touched the floor. His fondest wish was to remain in Colorado until his aunt was fully recovered. The prospect of leaving her to deal with Cal Buckman and the missing fifty thousand dollars as well as the ST from her makeshift hospital bed seemed neither fair nor wise. But he'd learned Tanner Supply was the linchpin of the financial empire built by his father. The St. Louis warehouses operated at a substantial profit year in and year out, and his father had invested a sizable portion of those profits in Payne Merchandise and the ST. The trio of businesses could withstand the loss of fifty thousand dollars providing Tanner Supply continued to perform as it had the past decade.  

   He was wrestling with possible courses of action when Mr. Ming returned with the tea. He sipped and thought, and sipped and thought some more. There just didn't seem to be any way he could linger in Colorado without imperiling Tanner Supply. He knew from talks with his father that decisions regarding what to inventory season by season impacted a supply company's business for months, and his father had always made those decisions. Nathan wasn't comfortable delegating the acquisition of inventory to Jesse Wiggins or his father's bookkeepers. Neither was he certain he himself had enough experience to sit in his father's chair. 

   Then there was Laura Payne. Perhaps he had little chance with her if he stayed, but he feared he'd have no chance whatsoever trying to win her affection from afar by telegram and letter. She was everything he wanted in a woman. She was intelligent and honest and so lushly put together she made him want to paw the ground. He had to know where he stood with her. Like his father before him, he had met the girl of his dreams and he wouldn't rest until she was his, or she spurned him completely.

   “Mrs. Tanner asking for you,” said Mr. Ming.

   Delighted Alana was feeling better, Nathan drained his teacup and placed it on Mr. Ming's tray. Having slept in his clothes, he had only to pull on his boots to follow the Chinaman across the hall.

   Alana seemed small and shrunken in her bed, but her smile was warm and her eyes showed spunk. He could see no blood on the bandages circling her waist. He stood looking down at her, debating how he should tell her about Sam. 

   “Come closer, Nathan.”

   She clasped his hand and rubbed his knuckles. “You needn't fret. Your Mr. Westfall told me the details of last evening. I hate losing Sam, but believe me, I don't hold you to blame.”

   “I want you to know that I'd be dead if he hadn't jumped between me and Roan Buckman.”

   Alana tightened her grip on his fingers. “Then he died doing what he was trained to do,” she said, her voice catching in her throat. “He was a remarkable creature and I'll never forget him. Most human beings are never blessed with a friend as loyal as Sam.”

   Alana released Nathan's fingers, gathered herself, and slid higher in the bed. “Ellie Langston says I'll be bedridden for a good month to six weeks, and that I'm to stay quiet the whole time. I'm too weak right now to argue with her, so you'll have to hold things together. I trust your judgment regarding Eldon and the stolen money. He might have a soft spot where Laura's concerned, but he's a solid businessman in normal circumstances.” Alana's eyes closed. “I'm sorry, Nathan, I just can't stay awake.”

   The anvil on his shoulders feeling heavier than ever, Nathan kissed her cheek and returned to his room. Mr. Ming was absent. A tray beside his bed contained another steaming pot of tea, thick slices of beef, and thicker slices of bread. The simple meal reminded him of the sandwich Sam Darling had provided him the night he'd fled St. Louis on the Missouri Pacific.

    He ate slowly, recalling how his father had managed Tanner Supply. His father had been bold and resourceful, always ready and willing to follow his instincts. If his company lacked anything, whether it was skilled, experienced employees, warehouse space, or additional financial capital, he acquired it without hesitation, and by whatever means necessary. He often remarked at dinner that he preferred to fail by over-reaching than have the competition pass him by while he twiddled his thumbs. 

   Nathan was smiling as he finished eating. What he had in mind would intrigue his father. It was daring and risky and could misfire as easily as not. But if it succeeded, it would protect Tanner Supply's profits from his inexperience while he gradually assumed control of the company. 

   He'd been in the same clothing from the skin out for three days, and his cheeks were stubbly and unshaven. Maybe he'd no time to have his clothes cleaned, but the whiskers and his unwashed smell were a different story. 

   He buckled his shell belt, looped his money purse over his head, and donned his mackinaw and cap. In the lobby, Ira Westfall slept in a chair propped against the wall beside Jack Allred's bed. Mr. Ming was sponging sweat from the constable's forehead with a towel.

   “How is he?” Nathan whispered.

   “Very weak, master, very weak.”

   When Nathan paused at the front desk, Olney practically leaping to his feet. “Tell Cal Buckman you'll be properly paid for the rooms and use of the lobby,” Nathan said, fishing a pair of double eagles from his purse. 

   “Yes, Sir, Mr. Tanner,” Olney said as he pocketed the coins.

   Nathan walked south from the hotel two doors, and then angled across Hunt Street through sparse afternoon traffic to Sweeney's Bathhouse. He was greeted by a gnome of a man with so much white facial hair he reminded Nathan of an organ grinder's monkey. “What'll it be, sir?”

   “I want a bath hot enough to burn skin and a razor with a keen edge,” Nathan said, jingling his purse. 

   “Albert Sweeney at your service,” the hirsute gnome said. “Right this way, sir. You're in luck. My brass tub is available, I've water boiling, and my razors are well stropped. I would never disappoint such a gentleman as yourself.” 

   Standing on the sidewalk an hour later, Nathan had to admit Albert Sweeney had made good on his boast. His skin was prickly from scalding water and harsh soap, his face burned from the closeness of his shave, and the Florida Water Sweeney had sprinkled on nearly every part of him was vastly superior to the stink of old sweat. He was ready for his next stop.

   Two ranch wagons were being loaded at the dock of Payne Merchandise. The equipment showroom was deserted when Nathan entered via the Sixth Street door. Giles was at his usual station in the corner of the office. Eldon Payne, coatless, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, was behind his mammoth desk, sorting through what appeared to be a stack of shipping manifests. A half smoked cigar smoldered in the pewter ashtray at his elbow.

   The merchant's pale eyes widened at the sight of Nathan. “Well, good afternoon, young man,” he said, pointing to a chair in front of the desk. “Sit down, won't you? What brings you here today?”

   Nathan removed his cap, unbuttoned his mackinaw, and seated himself. “I thought if you could spare a few minutes, we might speak to the future.”

   Eldon Payne sighed. “We'd better, for we've much to resolve. I won't quibble with you. I owe your company fifty thousand dollars. If you like, I'll sell you my share of the store for whatever you stipulate. That won't cover the whole amount, but it will start to repay you. It will take me awhile to pay you the balance.” 

   The merchant's pale eyes narrowed. “That is, unless you want to send me to prison. Blackmailed or not, I stole your money.”

   Nathan shook his head. “I've no intention of having you prosecuted, Mr. Payne. Cal Buckman informed me last evening he had nothing to do with blackmailing you or hiring murder done. He gave me his word that if your money is located, he'll return it.”

   “You believe him?” 

   “Yes, I do. He was holding a rifle on me. He could have shot me instead. Truth is, Mr. Payne, I'm not here about the fifty thousand dollars.”

   Eldon Payne's frown bunched skin on the bridge of his nose. “What could be more important than the missing money?” 

   “I've a proposition for you, and I'd like you to hear me out,” Nathan said. “You might find it interesting.”

   Curiosity piqued, Eldon Payne stroked his muttonchop whiskers. “Talk away.”

   Nathan took a deep breath. “Mr. Payne, my father was teaching me his business, but I didn't learn enough from him before his death to manage Tanner Supply by myself. I'd like you to join me in St. Louis for a year or two. I need your advice about inventory and where we might gain new business. My father's bookkeepers are excellent at issuing invoices and keeping accounts current, and Jesse Wiggins oversees the warehouse, so I have no concerns there.”

   “Who would operate my store while I'm away?”

   Nathan took another deep breath, for the selling became harder now. “It may sound crazy at first, but Ira Westfall's smart and resourceful. At his age, he might be ready to forego guarding warehouses and tackle something new and a little less dangerous. If you stock the store from St. Louis and provide him some direction by telegraph, I think he could manage things while you're away. He can always come to St. Louis and consult with you if need be.”

   “What's in it for Ira Westfall?” Eldon Payne asked.

   “My share of your store,” Nathan said. “I owe Ira more than I could ever repay.”

   Eldon Payne puffed on his cigar and leaned forward. “Young man, your proposition is most interesting. But I'm an old codger reluctant to leave his daughter.”

   “She can come with you. You can live at the Tanner mansion, the both of you. Laura might enjoy an extended stay in St. Louis.”

   Eldon Payne tapped ash from his cigar on the edge of the pewter ashtray. “Maybe. She's always been a very independent female, even more so since she opened that millinery shop of hers. But,” the merchant said with a shrug of the shoulders, “I owe you fifty thousand dollars, not Laura. I really can't refuse you because of her, can I?”

   “Mr. Payne, I'll say it again. I'm not worried about your making good on the fifty thousand. I'm prepared to give you a one-third interest in Tanner Supply for up to two years of your time.”

   An astonished Eldon Payne fell back in his chair. “My God, young man, you're offering me a fortune before I've even lifted a finger. An old man like me isn't worth that much to any company.”

   “Yes, you are,” Nathan countered. “If Tanner Supply falters, then your store and the ST will suffer accordingly. Tanner's big enough to buy in bulk at much lower prices than your store, guaranteeing you a profit, and if cattle prices tumble, the ST will need an infusion of cash. If Tanner Supply is healthy, we can weather any storm.”

   Nathan had said his piece and fell silent. Eldon Payne killed his cigar in the pewter ashtray, and head lowered, thought for a minute. When he looked up, he stood and offered Nathan his hand. “I'll go to St. Louis with you on one condition. If I don't live long enough to repay you the entire fifty thousand dollars, you're to take the balance due from my third of Tanner Supply, and give Laura the rest, if there's anything left.”

   A delighted and relieved Nathan gripped his new partner's hand. “Welcome to Tanner Supply, Mr. Payne.”

   “Now, I need to figure how best to tell Laura,” Eldon Payne said. “I don't want her deciding you coerced me into a partnership. If she thinks I let myself be bullied into this, she'll never agree to accompany me to St. Louis. Hell's Bells, she might never speak to me again.”

   Nathan buttoned his mackinaw. “No insult intended, but is she always so strong minded and willful?”

   “Yes, she's the spitting image of her mother. But once Cinda and I stopped arguing and fighting, no man ever had a more devoted and loving wife. I suspect it will be the same with Laura.”

    “I wish you luck with her, Mr. Payne. I'm hoping you can convince her to come to St. Louis, if not now, perhaps later.”

    “So am I, young man, so am I.”