Lessie: Bride of Utah (American Mail-Order Bride 45) (25 page)

He executed a favorite blocking move honed on the boxing team, thrusting a fist up and out, connecting with Kerry’s gun arm as if it were an opponent’s thrown punch.

The door crashed against the inside wall.

Behind him the glass of the window shattered.

At least one Colt fired— maybe both.

Men charged through the breached doorway.

Another Colt discharged— from where, he couldn’t tell.

His blocking move thrust Kerry’s aim up and away. The bigger, stronger man’s attention whipped back around, snagging Richard’s eye.

Time slowed, stretched, paused…

Pounding feet on the floorboards. A man screamed in pain.

Kerry’s Colt clattered against the wall, but he didn’t lose his grip.

Men shouted orders, demanded Kerry and Skipper drop their weapons.

If Kerry heard, he gave no response.

The man’s sole focus remained locked on Richard, his eyes sparking with an emotion so terrifying, Richard blanched.

Too many men had crowded inside. Someone jostled Richard and he lost his balance.

Kerry took aim.

Another gun fired.

Richard’s ears rang with the deafening sound.

Not Kerry’s pistol…

He would have seen the flash, the barrel pointed at himself, this close.

Kerry’s eyes widened.

In the jostle, the crush of too many men, shouted orders, Richard watched the life dim from his would-be-killer’s eyes.

He could do little but grab Kerry’s pistol as the bigger man pitched forward, dead.

In the end, only two men died in the office building.

Edgar Kerry, the day shift supervisor. And Maurice Gibbons, the site foreman.

Both had been on the payroll of Cannon Mining for over ten years. Both had worked for Grandfather long before Richard and Adam had taken over at the helm.

Richard sat at Lessie’s bedside, holding her hand while she slept, and doing his best to shed the terror and panic of those horrible minutes.

He kept two loaded pistols on the table beside him, should he need them.

It might be a good long while before anyone knew the full extent of those involved. But just as Richard and discovered in a flash of insight at the moment Skipper shot Gibbons— all three men had a hand in the pot.

One team on Kerry’s day shift had discovered the gold deposits and brought the information to their team captain, who reported to the supervisor.

In his excitement, Kerry nearly hadn’t let Skipper in on it. It hadn’t been long and Gibbons had determined exactly how they’d handle it and what needed to be done. According to Skipper— as untrustworthy a source as
ever
existed— Gibbons had ordered the
accidents
that silenced the men who knew too much.

Men who’d either disclose the find to the mining company or who would want some of it themselves.

Their plan had been to see Big Ezra fail, close, leaving the site a prime candidate for poaching.

All in the name of greed. Fifty-one men, dead.

Numerous grieving widows. Children who’d never know their fathers.

The waste and unnecessary loss grieved Richard deeply, but what scared him most was the realization from bits that Skipper confided— and these sounded the most true of anything— Gibbons had a contact, a source outside of camp. Someone else he answered to.

Robin Hood.

As in rob the rich and give to the poor.

Which made absolutely no sense, because so very few of the men would have benefitted from the greedy plan hatched by three men.

Gibbons had drawn Herman Trengove into the plot and killed him.

Richard had come desperately close to losing his life, as had his precious wife.

It didn’t matter who’d pulled the trigger— whether it had been Skipper or Kerry. One of them had wanted Lessie dead because her dreams of improvement for Big Ezra worked against their plot.

Lessie shifted in bed and her eyes fluttered open.

“Hello, Mrs. Cannon.” He brushed fingertips over her brow, relieved to feel the fever had well and truly broken.

She smiled, just a little. “You’re here.”

The women who’d sat with him said she’d awoken just once during the battle in the office. The gunfire must’ve alerted her to trouble. They said she’d been awake for less than a couple minutes and had been unaware of all that had transpired.

Things were going to stay that way. If he could enforce the decision, she’d never learn of the shootout, the deaths, how close he’d come to dying.

No. He’d prefer her memories of that little eight-by-eight building were of them snuggling on a pallet of blankets and quilts, sleeping in one another’s arms.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Better.”

“Good.” He couldn’t help but smile at her, so grateful for her recovery. It looked like she’d be whole and well, and for that, he’d never been so grateful.

“Any chance you remember a conversation we had when you first awoke?”

If not, no matter. He’d simply tell her he loved her, again, as many times as it took until she remembered the momentous occasion.

“When I asked you what had happened to me and you avoided telling me I’d been shot?”

He chuckled. “Same conversation, different topic.”

“I believe I told you I’ve fallen in love with you, Richard Cannon.”

Love welled within him, all over again. The amazing emotion was welcome and genuine and brought him a depth of joy he’d never known his life had been missing.

“You’re an amazing woman, Mrs. Cannon. I love you more every day.”

“Enough to take me home?”

“As soon as you’re well enough to travel.”

“Take me home in the bed of the wagon, with Bathsheba to watch over me while you drive. That’ll bring her to where we can put her on a train to her brother in…”

She trailed off as if in thought, searching for the city name.

“Murray.”

“You know about that?”

“I do. She was a good help to me while you were unconscious.”

“She told me you rarely left my side.”

“Where else would I go?” His throat pinched, the emotion so strong he couldn’t control it. “You’re my
life
, my wife, my sole purpose in everything I do.”

Tears stung his eyes, burned like the dickens.

She squeezed his hand, love warming her eyes.

Oh, yeah. He’d been completely right when he’d figured reciprocated love would be a truly wondrous thing.

Two days after returning home with Lessie, he sat at her bedside, reading aloud from
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
.

She enjoyed hearing him read. And doing so helped to pass the time as she regained her strength.

A familiar knock sounded on the front door. Obviously Bart, the courier for Deseret Telegraph.

Lessie perked up. “You come right up and tell me if it’s from Josie.”

“I will, Sweetheart.” Richard kissed her brow. “Stay lying down, please.”

He took the stairs, hope trying to blossom. They still hadn’t heard a single word from Adam or Josie— and though he wouldn’t admit it to his wife, he’d begun to worry.

If his bride had been well, he might have taken her along and gone to find them.

Something had to be wrong at this point, but maybe…

“Good afternoon, sir.” Bart presented the telegram.

“Come in.” Richard opened the envelope, scanned the message, then had to back up and read it once more with great care.

The fine hairs on the back of his neck rose…

The message seemed most pedestrian, simple, irrelevant, really.

Anyone who paused to think about it would wonder why anyone sent such benign content anyway.

He and Adam, if life ever calmed down and offered them a moment’s boredom, ought to rewrite the simple code they’d developed while still too inexperienced to know the challenges awaiting them in the mining business.

The key words leapt off the transcription of the wire, and Adam immediately knew two things.

First— he would lie to his wife, because if she knew the grave danger her twin had gotten herself into, or more likely, her twin’s husband had gotten her twin into… she’d be on the first train for New Mexico.

She wasn’t ready for travel, hadn’t regained her strength, and would be useless to her sister.

His honor as a husband meant he had to shield her from some of the more unpleasant things in life. He took his role seriously.

Second— the trouble in Utah Territory might be under control, but in New Mexico, it was far from over. Adam needed help.

Richard had to make a choice.

He
could
leave her, he supposed… but no.

Who had known, that morning when two telegrams had arrived at the same time, alerting them to dual accidents, that he’d ever choose home and hearth and watching over his wife… and hire someone else to see to business?

Especially when his closest friend and cousin required assistance?

Who knew anyone could mean more to him than Adam?

“I need to send a return message.” He gestured for Bart to follow him into the office.

Richard sat and wrote out first a carefully coded message that read like obvious code— inviting the President to Tea on Easter Sunday, and would she mind stopping for a loaf of bread and a pound of sugar on her way home?

They
really
needed to update the stupid cipher. But he couldn’t do anything about that now.

He wrote a second wire, hiring a team of men he’d worked with before, a few years ago when the lawless element in New Mexico had made operating an honest mine impossible. The gunmen were likely more help than Richard could ever be, at least in person.

A twinge of guilt nagged. The old Richard would have left immediately, seen to the problem himself.

But the new Richard was so in love with his wife, his priorities had shifted and changed significantly. With luck, the help he sent, the ongoing support from home would help Adam more than if Richard were there in person.

He handed the messages to Bart, passed him a generous tip, and saw him to the door.

“Good day, Mr. Cannon.” Bart waved as he hurried down the steps.

“Good day, Bart.”

Chapter Twenty-Two