Homecoming (19 page)
“Yeah, she’s supposed to be reporting back on the negotiations, though I think they might actually be on hold now—”
“Wait a minute. Let me get this straight. Federica arrived on the 28th of May, certainly exhausted, probably sick. She was supposed to have been driven from the airport to this town but nobody knows if she ever even arrived. She hasn’t been in touch, nobody knows where she is and her uncle’s
angry?
Nobody’s worried at Mansion Enterprises? Ohgod, ohgod, Federica could be sick,
dying
, for all anyone cares…”
“Well, she was supposed to be negotiating the sale of a piece of property there. But I’m sure everything’s all right, Ellen—”
“…her lifeless body lying by the roadside, eaten by wolves…”
“I’m not too sure there are that many wolves left in California, Ellen.”
Click
“So, Ellen, would you like to go out for a drink next time you’re in San Francisco? Ellen? Ellen?”
June 5th
EMAIL FROM: [email protected]
Dear Russell,
Sounds to me like you’re fishing without bait. First of all, it’s not prudent to offer to pay back loans at twenty percent, since that is basically usury which is…how can I say this delicately…illegal. The only people I know who lend money at those interests are sharks like Gino Gambetti. Come to think of it, I sure hope he’s not the guy you owe money to. The guy’s nickname is “The Animal” and with him you’d have to watch not only your back, but your front and sides, too.
Frankly, your genetic engineering stock sounds like a bag job to me. My stockbroker takes care of my investment portfolio and so far he seems to be doing okay, at least I haven’t gone belly-up as I would have following your advice.
Oh, and by the way, I wouldn’t be banking on your bonus from the Carson’s Bluff sale—or on your job for that matter—since the word around here is that the sale is off and that your department will soon be history. But you didn’t hear it here. I hope you make it back soon. Martinez trashed me on the squash court. At least with you I have a more-than-even chance of winning. Aloha.
Will
June 6th
Jack finished polishing the barrel of his .38. The pungent smell of gun oil filled the small sheriff’s office.
Jack made a point of cleaning his guns every week. It was important to him to keep all his guns clean and in perfect working order, though they were never used except for his regular stints on the firing range.
Well, hardly ever used. Jack fondly picked up his .45 and checked the barrel. It was the weapon he’d used to scare off a gang of Hell’s Angels who had roared into town one afternoon, hell-bent on setting up shop in pretty Carson’s Bluff. Jack had shot the skull-and-crossbones earring off the leader without drawing a drop of blood. Then he had threatened to put out the eye of the Vargas girl tattooed on the leader’s chest. The air had smelled of exhaust smoke the entire afternoon after the gang’s hasty departure. The memory still made Jack grin.
Luckily, violence was something almost unknown in Carson’s Bluff, but you never knew. On his list of priorities, keeping his guns well-oiled and in top condition was right up there with making sure his sheriff’s log was up to date, with attending all Town Council meetings and with organizing regular gun safety talks in the schools. It felt good knowing he was doing what he was supposed to do.
The Army had exonerated him from all blame, but the accusation of shirking his duty had stung. Badly.
He finished cleaning his .45 and loaded it. It was the only loaded gun in the sheriff’s office, kept in a locked drawer of his desk.
It was time to get back up to the Folly. He’d come down reluctantly to take care of some paperwork and was straining at the bit to get back up the hill.
The door to the office opened.
“Hey.” Jack looked up, pleased. He put the gun down and stood up as Federica walked in. “This is a surprise. What are you doing here? How did you get down from the Folly?”
“A pleasant surprise, I hope.” Federica closed the door behind her and crossed the room, limping slightly.
“I’ll say.” Jack walked around the desk and folded her in his arms. “How did you get down? Did Lilly drive you?”
“Nope.” Federica pulled away and grinned proudly. “I walked.”
“You
walked
?” It was over three miles from the Folly to town. He looked down at her dusty sneakers. “I guess you did walk.” Why did she do that? “Nothing’s wrong, is there?” he asked.
“No.” Federica shrugged. “I just got a little…lonely.” Her eyes were soft as she looked up at him. “And I guess I was hoping you’d give me a ride back up.”
“Count on it.” Jack knew—they both knew—their time together was drawing to a close.
He couldn’t help it. He was in his office, anyone could walk in at any moment, and it just wasn’t done for the sheriff to be caught kissing in the jailhouse, but he just couldn’t help it. He held her head still and bent down. It wasn’t possible to keep feeling this sense of excitement, of rightness, every time he kissed her, but he did. After days of kissing her, some of the newness should have worn off. But it hadn’t.
His mouth moved on hers, gently, gently.
“We could get a ticket for this,” she murmured.
“I’ll fix it.” He deepened the kiss and let his tongue fill her mouth.
Listen, Jack
, a little voice in his head said. It sounded a lot like Wyatt.
See if any of these words ring a bell. Mansion Enterprises. Enemy. Gone. Soon.
But it didn’t make any difference. Federica’s mouth was soft under his and he forgot all the warnings he kept repeating to himself. Her tongue moved in his mouth and he gripped her head hard, then moved one hand down her back. He was seriously considering clearing his desk with his arm and moving her onto it, when she pulled away.
Her lips were slightly swollen and when she licked them he felt his body clench almost painfully. He should be used to it by now, but it caught him every time.
“So this is where you work.”
“Yeah.” Work. A word he didn’t want to think of. Right up there with duty and future and business.
His hands gripped her arms. “Federica. I—”
Care about you. Am falling in love with you.
The words were there, right there in the air. Probably in his eyes. The air was heavy with them. She plastered a smile on her face and let her gaze roam the room.
“Show me around.”
“Okay.” Jack released her arms. “This is the front office. It’s essentially unchanged from the 1880s.” He touched his desk, and ran his hand along a furrow that marred the surface. “Carson’s Bluff’s first sheriff used this desk. And this is where a prospector took exception to the gold weighing.”
“Was anybody hurt?”
“Nah, just the sheriff’s pride. The prospector’s aim was lousy. And he might even have had a point. They say the gold weighing in those days was…let’s say…subjective.”
Federica rubbed the furrow in the desk. “Is that how disputes were settled then? With bullets?”
“Well, not quite. Lots of disputes were settled by a round of poker.” Jack grinned when he saw the color rise in her cheeks. He looped an arm around her shoulder and hugged her tightly to his side. “Told you poker was an old Carson’s Bluff tradition.”
“And a good one, too.” Federica leaned her head against his shoulder.
“That was how the town got its name, you know.”
She looked up, startled. “Carson’s Bluff? You mean it’s not a—a bluff? I mean—like a cliff or something? I was going to ask you to take me to see it one of these days.”
“Not that kind of bluff.” Jack pressed her head into his shoulder for a moment. Nothing better to make someone smile than a Harry Carson story. “A poker bluff.”
“Sounds like a good one.” He’d been telling her Harry Carson stories these past days. There were a lot of them. Some of them were even true.
“It is. It was the start of Harry Carson’s fortune. A marathon poker game that lasted three days and three nights, over Christmas, 1879.” Jack sat down in his chair and pulled Federica down onto his lap. “Seven men started the poker game but one by one they fell by the wayside. Either they lost all their money or got too drunk to hold the cards. This was Christmas, remember, and the game had gone on throughout the Christmas celebrations, which were pretty rambunctious in those days, believe me. So it’s early in the morning on the day after Christmas. Everyone has had time to get drunk and recover from their hangovers. People start drifting into the saloon until they’re standing a foot deep around the green poker table. “
If Jack closed his eyes he could almost see the scene. He’d heard the story a thousand times from his father, who had no doubt heard it a thousand times from his father before him.
“There’re only two players left by this time, Harry Carson and a prospector who had three sacks of gold on the table and the deed to the mine they came from. Harry had the takings from the table and a promissory note on the saloon he owned. That would be Stella’s, by the way.” Jack smiled down at Federica, who was listening entranced, her mouth a small O. “So. Imagine the scene. It’s about seven in the morning of the third day. Spectators have been drifting in and out all the time, but word spreads that the game is coming to a close and that someone’s going to win big, so the room is crowded and smoky and everyone’s basically drunk. Harry’s won the last three hands. He has maybe twenty thousand on the table—which was a huge sum of money in those days. Enough for a man to live on for the rest of his life. But Harry Carson was a man with a dream and he knew he’d need lots of money for it. So he says he’s willing to play two more hands and orders some more bourbon.”
“Pretty dangerous,” Federica mused.
“Nah. Harry Carson held his liquor well.”
Federica laughed at that. She looked up at Jack and batted her eyelashes. “Like a man?” she drawled.
“Yup. Like a man.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “So listen. Here we are, two hands from the end. One man will walk away from the table rich, and the other a pauper. Harry lights a cigar, cool as you please.”
“Were they playing stud or draw?” Federica asked.
“Draw.”
Jack grinned. He loved this story. The one regret of his life was that he had never met Harry Carson, who had died the year his granddad was born.
“So the prospector deals. They’re playing for one of the sacks of gold, worth maybe five thousand. Harry ups the ante to another sack and discards two cards. The other guy sees him and deals himself one. He puts down his hand. Two tens and two jacks. Harry puts down his hand. Three aces. He rakes in two sacks of gold and the other guy’s down to one sack and his mine. Harry says the next round will be played for the goldmine and the saloon. The prospector hesitates. But Harry’s been having a run of good luck. It has to stop sometime. It’s Harry’s turn to deal. He picks up his cards and lights another cigar. The prospector’s sweating. He discards two and looks at Harry. Harry puffs on his cigar and blows the smoke up to the ceiling. He pours himself another glass of bourbon and says he’s fine. Then…he ups the ante. Double or nothing. The prospector looks at his hand, looks at Harry and folds. The whole room erupts into cheering. Cool as you please, Harry picks up the two sacks of gold, his table winnings and the deed to the gold mine, and the prospector walks away with the one remaining sack. The bourbon’s flowing pretty freely now. Harry doesn’t even look up, he’s busy stashing away the takings and folding the deed and putting it in his pocket. ‘Your luck’s really running today,’ someone calls out. ‘Nope,’ Harry answers coolly. ‘I bluffed.’ The crowd goes wild. And the legend of Harry Carson began.”
“What a great story!” Federica enthused.
“Wait. It’s not over. The gold mine was a rich one and Harry used the money to build up Libertyville, which was renamed Carson’s Bluff. He starts work on the Folly but never gets a chance to finish it. He gets sick and spends a year in bed. Harry Carson did everything in style. He ran his businesses from his sickbed, which had a red satin bedspread, surrounded by pretty saloon girls. But finally, he knows he’s dying and he calls in the Town Council. Harry was allergic to authority and never held an official position. He wants to talks to the mayor. The mayor comes up with his hat in his hand. ‘You wanted to talk to me, Mr. Carson?’ the mayor asks, twisting his hat in his hands. ‘Yes, Mr. Mayor,’ Harry answers. ‘I want you and the rest of the Town Council to know that I bluffed.’ The mayor thinks Harry’s really lost it now, he can’t even remember his finest moment. So he bends down respectfully. ‘We know that, Mr. Carson. That’s why we named Libertyville Carson’s Bluff.’ ‘No, no.’ Harry waves his hand. He’s pretty weak by now. ‘I mean I really won. I had an inside straight.’ And he dies.”
Federica digested that for a moment, then laughed in delight. “You mean he bluffed about
bluffing
? He had a winning hand all along?”
“That’s about the size of it.” Jack watched her. The slight sadness he’d seen in her eyes had been chased away. He’d seen that sadness come and go in the past few days. There was a lot unspoken between them and he knew that soon, soon things would come to a head. But for now, they were a man and a woman enjoying each other’s company.
