Linda Castle (4 page)

Still, he couldn’t quite shake off the notion that eyes were trained on his spine.

Flynn rode Jack close and did a quick once-over on the mine. It appeared to be in fairly good shape—from the outside. He gnawed on the inside of his mouth while he thought. If the Lady could be reopened it would surely help Hollenbeck Corners.

“Well, that’s another thing I can speak to old Moze about.” Flynn spoke and Jack worked his ears back and forth in response. That was the only kind of conversation they ever had: Flynn talked and Jack listened.

Flynn heard the distinct sound of a twig snapping. He swiveled in his saddle and drew his Colt at the same time. Nothing but lonesome prairie and cactus met his eye. He sat for a moment while his pulse ticked off the time. Then when he heard and saw nothing, he kicked Jack up and headed back to Hollenbeck Corners.

But he kept his gun drawn.

That evening went much like the one before it. Mrs. Young left after saying her usual dozen words, Flynn and Rachel spent a quiet evening and then she went to bed. At one o’clock in the morning she woke up crying for her mama. By three o’clock in the morning Flynn had decided that he would go see Moses as soon as Mrs. Young showed up at seven.

Flynn was riding down the hill when he came upon Clark’s Dairy wagon.

“Morning, Flynn.”

“Morning, Amos.”

“Did you hear the news?” Amos asked with a happy grin.

“Can’t say as I have.” Flynn rested his wrist on the saddle horn while Jack took a disagreeable nip at Amos’s old bay wagon horse.

“My cousin in Tombstone was getting ready to start delivering milk yesterday when his wagon fell through the street,” Amos said with a chuckle.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Flynn tried not to laugh along with Amos.

“No, don’t be. My cousin was still on his own land—when they got the wagon out they found a vein of silver. He’s gonna be a rich man.” Amos chuckled again.

Now Flynn laughed. “I guess I better start taking care where I walk, eh?”

He had heard tales that there was a honeycomb of tunnels beneath Tombstone and Hollenbeck Corners.

“Yeah, I’m hoping I’ll have the same kind of luck.” Amos Clark smiled and touched his finger to his white cap. Then he clicked his tongue and the bay started off at his plodding gait toward the mansion.

Flynn laughed one more time before he urged Jack on down the slope. Hollenbeck Corners was becoming civilized. It seemed like only yesterday that Geronimo was raiding; now they had door-to-door milk delivery and two daily newspapers and a fire pumper•but no sheriff. The mayor and citizens had decided that John Slaughter, marshal of Cochise county, was near enough. And besides, J.C. was the only man who had ever been murdered, and everybody knew who was guilty even before the trial.

Or so they said. Flynn had never been that sure. All
through the proceedings and even after he had taken Marydyth to Yuma, something had nagged at him.

Times were changing in the territory. Every day it seemed that things became more modern and the world to the east had more of an effect. With news arriving on a regular basis, people in the territory were becoming more political and talk in the saloons was often about what was going on in Washington.

Flynn guided Jack down the main street and stopped at a tall, narrow building with an impressive wooden false front. Sunlight rippled across the fancy gilt lettering in the picture window of the law office. Moses was mighty proud of that window. He had paid a pretty penny to have it shipped by rail from back east and installed by a glazier from Tucson.

Flynn dismounted and loosely wrapped the reins around the hitching post. “Don’t go hightailing it back to the barn on me, or I’ll take Harold Benson up on his offer. And you’d make a piss-poor livery horse.” He softened the threat with an affectionate pat.

He stepped up to the boardwalk and made his way to Moze’s office. He heard the sound of two men’s voices from the inner office as soon as he opened the outer door and walked inside.

Flynn didn’t want to be listening to the conversation so he busied himself pouring a cup of coffee from the gray graniteware pot on the potbellied stove in the corner of the room. His back was to Pritikin’s private office, but the men’s voices suddenly grew too loud to ignore.

“I’m tellin’ you, Ted, I have no authority in this matter. You’ll have to deal directly with Flynn O’Bannion.”

Flynn turned. Now it wasn’t somebody else’s business, it was his. He took a step toward the partly open door. Through the crack Flynn could see Moses behind the
desk; on the other side, all he could see was the toe of a boot with a fancy double-eagle design.

“Who needs to deal with me?” Flynn drawled as he entered the doorway.

Moses Pritikin’s head swung around. The lawyer’s sharp eyes were as clear and quick as a red-tailed hawk’s, set in a face tanned and cured by a half century of Arizona wind and sun. His hair, white as cow’s milk, was a shock against his swarthy, angular face.

“Speaking of the devil. Come in, Flynn, come in.” Moze’s overlarge hands always seemed to stick too far out of his shirtsleeves, and today was no exception as he gestured.

Flynn crossed the threshold and finally got a look at the man inside those double-eagle boots. Ted Kelts, J.C.’s former partner, was sitting in the red leather chair opposite Pritikin’s desk.

“Ted here is interested in buying the Lavender Lady Mine,” Moses said.

Pritikin’s office was on the skinny side of small from the get-go, and the massive desk he had squeezed into it left scant room for more than one client at a time. Flynn sidled into the room as best as he could and found a place against the wall.

“The Lavender Lady?” Flynn asked after he took a sip of the too-strong, bitter coffee.

Ted Kelts nodded. “I’ve been thinking it would be good to open the mine. A lot of men in town are out of work. Prices on copper are a bit better now.” Ted Kelts grimaced. “I’d kind of like to see what the old girl has left hiding under her skirts.”

“Funny you should ask about the Lady, Kelts. I was just out there yesterday looking it over,” Flynn said.

“You don’t say. How’d it look?”

Flynn shrugged. “I’m no miner. I don’t like being underground.”

“Well, I am a miner. Sell her to me,” Ted said with a smile.

Flynn studied his face for a long time. “I don’t think so.”

Ted’s dark eyes flashed in anger. “But why not?”

“I’m thinking of reopening it myself.” Flynn studied his face. “And Victoria really wanted me to keep all the Hollenbeck holdings in one piece.”

Ted nodded. “Yes, I understand, Mr. O’Bannion, but J.C. had decided to sell to me—before he was murdered by that woman. By all rights I should own the Lavender Lady.” Kelts fingered the gold chain on his watch fob. “Moses tells me that you have complete control now.”

Flynn pushed the Stetson hat back on his head with his index finger. The last thing he wanted to do was get into a chaffer with Ted Kelts over some hole in the ground.

“Victoria put me in charge of all the Hollenbeck family holdings,” Flynn said, but there was no pleasure in his admission.

Kelts smiled and leaned toward him. “Let’s discuss terms, O’Bannion. How much do you want for the Lavender Lady?” His navy brocade vest puckered at his middle, but Ted tugged the cloth down tight until it was smooth and wrinkle free. He was a tall, rangy man, strong as a bull, with hard muscles that had been honed by swinging an eighteen-pound sledge for years before he hit his first strike. “I’m sure Victoria intended to take care of this oversight before she had her last stroke. It would be a matter of you signing the papers, O’Bannion, righting a wrong, you might say.”

Flynn’s gaze followed the sharp crease along the fancy
pin-striped trousers to the handmade Justin boot propped up on the knee of his opposite leg. If price was the issue, Ted Kelts could afford whatever was asked.

His eyes slid up to meet Ted’s gaze. “’Tain’t for sale.”

Kelts stiffened. “What do you mean it ain’t for sale? Everything and everybody has a price. Just name yours.”

Flynn narrowed his eyes. “Sorry, the Lavender Lady ain’t for sale.” The more he talked to Ted Kelts, the less he liked him. “Not today or any day.”

Ted uncrossed his legs and sat up straight. “You’re a cattle man, O’Bannion. I know you’re running your own head along with Hollenbeck stock. Why would you want a broken-down mine to worry over? It’s probably worthless anyway, but I’d be a whole lot more able to get it open again than you would.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Flynn said.

“Then—why won’t you sell?” Ted looked perplexed.

“I’m riding for the Hollenbeck brand now. Victoria made it plain she wants Rachel to have all the Hollenbeck property—just as it is. And just for future reference, I haven’t got a price.”

Kelts snapped his head around and looked at Moses. “Is this legal?”

“Legal as Victoria’s money and my skill could make it.” No small amount of pride sparkled in the dusky depths of Moze’s eyes and he was working hard not to grin. “I’d like to see somebody find a loophole in one of my documents. Damned near ironclad. Write them so nobody can break them,” he added under his breath.

Ted sat motionless as a tombstone. His eyes narrowed for half a second, then he stood and tugged his vest down. “Well, I guess that’s my answer—for today, O’Bannion. But I’m a man who usually gets what he goes after, so I’m sure we’ll be talking again.”

Flynn leaned away from the wall and nodded. “About anything you want, Kelts, but when it comes to the Lavender Lady, the answer will still be no. That is my last word on the subject.”

“I didn’t get where I am by giving in easily.” Ted extended his hand to Flynn. “No hard feelings?”

“I wouldn’t fault a businessman for doing what comes natural to him.”

“Glad to hear it.” Ted pulled his watch chain and drew a fancy pocket piece from his vest. “I’ll take my leave now.” Ted nodded at Moses and Flynn. “Thanks for the coffee, Moze.”

“Don’t mention it. By the way, Ted, I heard you was headed back east?”

Kelts frowned and slipped the watch back where it came from. “News does travel fast in Hollenbeck Corners. Yes, I have some business in Washington.”

“Taking up politics, are you?” Moses smiled like a fox.

“The thought has crossed my mind.” Ted smiled and turned to Flynn. “Think about what I said, O’Bannion.”

When Ted closed the outside door, Flynn eased himself down into the solitary leather chair.

“More coffee?” Moses offered.

“Naw.” Flynn shook his head. “This stuff would rust a horseshoe, Moze.”

Moses blinked and stared at his own cup. “Really?”

Flynn shook his head and set down his cup. With Kelts gone, his thoughts settled firmly on the letter in his pocket.

“Whiskey, then?” Moses offered as he opened his desk drawer and brought out a brand-new bottle of Cutter and Miller.

“A little early for that, wouldn’t you say?” Flynn frowned at the attorney.

“You tell me? You look like a dog chewing on a tough piece of hide.” Moses leaned back and laced his fingers behind the shock of unruly white hair. “Maybe you need a woman. Beatrice has a new girl over at the sportin’ house. Name is Annabelle—ain’t that a hoot•such a fancy name for a whore? Has hair the color of molten copper.”

Flynn’s frowned deepened. “I didn’t come here to get directions to the cathouse, Moze.”

“And here I-was thinking that maybe you had lost your way. I happen to know you haven’t visited Beatrice and her girls for two years,” Moses went on, ignoring Flynn’s glower. “It ain’t healthy, Flynn. A man can get all backed up—ruin your digestion—shorten your life. It’s a medical fact. Dr. Goodfellow over in Tombstone told me so.”

“I don’t need a woman,” Flynn repeated with a flinty voice.

“I haven’t seen a look so mournful since the last lynchin’ bee over in Millville. If it isn’t a woman you need, then what has put that hangdog look on your face? Trouble with your cattle? Little Rachel?”

“No trouble with Rachel or the cattle.”

“Why don’t you get rid of those critters? They’re more trouble than they’re worth.”

“Easy for you to say. That’s what I do for a living now, Moze. A grown man has to have a livelihood.”

The lawyer snorted. “You don’t need the money.” Moze’s hand fell to the desktop and he shook his head in amazement. “Guardianship of Rachel pays you a nice annuity—I write out the bank draft, remember?”

Flynn shifted in the chair and scowled at Moses but he didn’t say anything.

“You haven’t touched it, have you?” His brows rose until they nearly touched his hairline, and his eyes widened. “It’s all just sitting there in the bank, isn’t it?”

Flynn shook his head. “I didn’t come here to talk about that damned money. I didn’t want it in the first place.”

“You are a strange duck, Flynn O’Bannion.” Moses shook his head in disbelief.

“Look, it’s bad enough to be living in the Hollenbeck house like it was my own.” Flynn’s voice trailed off. It was hard to put into words the way he felt about caring for Rachel, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to take money for it.

Moses laughed and rocked back in his chair, then laced his hands behind his head again. “You are a dying breed. All right, if that isn’t what’s stuck in your craw, then tell me what is.”

Flynn drew the envelope from his shirt pocket and held it out.

“What’s this?” Moses unclasped his fingers and leaned forward across the mammoth desk.

“Look at the address.” Flynn shoved the paper closer.

Moses took the letter. His eyes flitted across the tattered envelope. When he glanced back up at Flynn he was frowning; all traces of humor were gone. “Why haven’t you opened it?”

Because I felt like I was violating Marydyth Hollenbeck’s privacy just looking it. Because I have never been able to forget the hatred in her blue eyes or how she held her head high when she walked through the gates of Yuma.

“You’re the Hollenbeck attorney,” Flynn answered
with a careless shrug of his shoulders. “I brought it to you.”

“Victoria Hollenbeck’s attorney—not Marydyth’s.” Moses handed the envelope back to Flynn. “This is your domain. You better open it.”