Two Brides Too Many (12 page)

Suddenly he pictured Miss Sinclair standing on the porch on Myers Avenue, and a rolling heat singed his ears.

“My shoulder is fine. Thank you.”

“You’ll have the sutures removed on Wednesday?”

“Is that all, Doctor?”

Morgan cleared his throat. “Miss Sinclair, I am truly sorry about our misunderstanding. But as a Christian person, I feel it’s my duty to warn you of the evils of certain men in this town—the type who might frequent establishments ladies of your apparent caliber shouldn’t fall prey to, no matter what kinds of frills they display.” Morgan looked away and took a deep breath before continuing. “I was walking past Myers Avenue today, and saw you speaking with such a man.”

The force of her gasp nearly knocked him off his feet. “You, Dr. Cutshaw, think I was talking to that man on purpose?” She stepped back. “You are an infuriating man. A mistaken, assuming, maddening man. I am not a fool. Nor am I drawn in by satin and lace and…free liquor! Believe me when I tell you, sir, that I know what kind
of certain
men live in this town.”

“Kat?” Her sister rushed into the room, carrying a full tea tray. “Is something wrong?”

Kat looked over at him, her jaw set in a tight frown. “This…man saw me this morning and had the audacity to…just never mind.” She turned, her skirt swishing in the rush, and stomped out of the room.

Listening to the young woman’s deliberate steps up the stairs, Morgan couldn’t help but wonder what life would be like if the two of them got along.

F
IFTEEN

L
ewis P. Whibley tucked the folded faro table under his arm and strutted down the hallway to the narrow stairs above Japanese Charlie’s Saloon in Colorado Springs. Three days had passed since that mousy old maid in Denver sent him packing, penniless. He’d barely escaped her robust brother.

Squaring his shoulders now, Lewis straightened his bolo tie. The sound of chinking glasses and bottles brightened his spirits. It meant a crowd was gathering below. He had an adequate take here last night, but he needed a few good nights for train fare and a hearty pot of seed money. A night or two at the table with that daft miner in Cripple Creek, and his luck would change. He’d win back his silver flask and his home. Why, he might even settle down and take himself a wife.

Lewis felt his blood boil. In one stupid night, he’d doled out everything he had to that cheat Paddy—all his winnings. That louse had even lured the saucy redhead away from him. Still made his gut burn.

His daddy was fond of saying that greed was like a dark pit full of
angry snakes. Well, it wouldn’t bite him again. He would outwit the miner this time. Outlast him too, until he had won back what was his. Might even see about that redhead again, if he had a mind to.

Tonight would be good practice—that is, if he could get to the table. Two upstairs girls stood between him and his seed pot.

“Ladies.” He tipped his hat. The one with the ruby red lips and long legs was tempting.

But it was the other one who sidled up to him and pressed a weighty hand on his arm. “Hey, handsome, you look much too serious tonight for your own good.” Batting heavy lashes, she patted her bare collarbone. “I have a place where we could see to that serious ailment of yours.” Her laugh was raw.

“As tempting as that is, I’m all about business tonight, ladies. After all, a man has to earn his keep.”

The woman pulled away and turned back toward her friend.

They weren’t so different from him. He knew when a mark wasn’t going to pan out, and so did they. Waving him off, they turned toward the next prospect. Lewis needed to do the same thing. Focus. That’s what had worked for his daddy.

At the edge of the hazy room, he assembled his faro table with a showman’s finesse. Like bees to honey, a buzz of gamblers landed at his table. A couple of cowboys. One he guessed to be a lawyer or a newspaper man. A fourth man stood across from Lewis. He’d seen horses with smaller noses than the one on this guy. He’d been at this faro table before, although Lewis couldn’t say where. Lewis had drifted far too much the last couple of years.

Stacking his chips, Lewis made eye contact with each player. “Shall we, gentlemen?”

“You were in Cripple Creek last year, weren’t ya, mister?” The guy’s voice was familiar. It sounded like he’d been chewing rocks.

His natural instinct was to run, in case he’d cheated the man with the big nose, but since he had a fist full of bills, Lewis stayed put and shuffled his deck. Something jogged in Lewis’s memory.

“Name’s Whibley.” He laid the deck facedown on the table. “We had a good game, as I recall. Ollie’s place in Cripple Creek, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. I’m the paymaster over there at the Mary McKinney Mine.” He pulled a cigar from his jacket and lit it.

Lewis traded chips for cash from the other players. “I’m headed back to Cripple Creek in a few days.”

“Heard you all had a couple of nasty fires up in Cripple Creek last month.” The cowboy to Lewis’s left shoved a wad of tobacco in his cheek and arranged his chips in neat stacks.

“Two big ones in four days. A bartender started the first one, fightin’ with his…woman.” The paymaster sneered at the leggy gal hanging on one of the cowboys. “The second one in the kitchen at the Portland Hotel. Six people died. One of ’em was a no-good high-grader, hauling ore out in his lunch bucket, stealing from my mine.” He fanned out his cards. “Found out afterward. The devil welcomed Paddy Maloney with a round of drinks, you can be sure.”

Lewis dropped a stack of chips, sending them rattling to the floor. Paddy Maloney was dead? Well, that changed things. His return to Cripple Creek was going to be easier than he thought. With Paddy dead, all he had to do was move back into his place. His luck was certainly changing.

But first things first—his train fare.

“Enough chatter, fellas. Let’s get down to business.”

S
IXTEEN

A
fter breakfast Saturday morning, Nell embraced Edith out on Hattie’s front porch. Then she hugged Thelma and kissed the baby cradled on her hip. Having the sisters and their children in the house had kept Nell busy in the kitchen. She’d miss them, and the activity that made waiting for Judson a little less worrisome. Unlike her sister, Nell didn’t like being alone, especially now.

“We’ll be praying for all of you.” Thelma followed Lucille and the other children down the walkway.

“God bless you all!” Hattie waved from the doorway. “You be sure to come back and see me anytime.”

Kat had already said her good-byes and taken Rosita upstairs to get ready for their trip to the mine and into town to send the telegram she didn’t get sent the day of the fire. Her sister was wise to distract the little girl right now. Rosita had warmed up to having other children around, and she was bound to miss them as much as Nell did. Once Thelma and her family had turned the corner at Hayden, she went inside and closed the door behind them.

Tears pooled in Hattie’s eyes.

“I’ll see if Kat’s ready to go,” Nell said, turning away before her landlady saw the tears in her own eyes.

“Did your sister say what it was that made her mad at the doctor this time?” Hattie asked.

Nell knew what Hattie was doing, and she guessed they all needed a distraction, but she wasn’t going to discuss Kat’s private matters. “I’m sure they’ll work it out.” At least, Nell hoped they would. Admittedly, the doctor had yet to converse with her sister without exasperating her, but that didn’t make him a bad man. He had, after all, saved that prostitute and her baby before Kat’s very own eyes.

And he was unmarried. Kat would never admit it, but she did need a man.

So did Nell.
Judson Archer
. The difference was that Nell knew it. Now if she could only find him. Nell turned and climbed the stairs, and heard the phonograph start playing downstairs. She wished she had money to shop for a new music cylinder or two. Hattie’s three were becoming quite familiar.

Nell walked into the room just as Kat slid a yellow ribbon over Rosita’s curls.

“Time for my wagon ride?” Deep dimples punctuated the little girl’s question.

Nell nodded, and Rosita slid off the bed and darted out the door with HopHop in her hand. Kat stood and pulled her bonnet off the bed.

As they descended the stairs, neither one of them spoke. Nell pulled her mantle off the brass hook and stepped out the door. It wasn’t
especially cold out, but Nell wanted to protect her dress from dust on the happenstance that Judson was actually there.

Less than an hour later, Nell held the reins as Hattie’s wagon bumped down a hill, across mine tailings, and into a cloud of rock dust. Rosita was wedged between her and Kat, and Nell could barely hear her own cough for the deafening sound of machinery.

Nell pulled back on the reins to slow Hattie’s mare. Although Kat’s shoulder didn’t seem to trouble her much now, Nell had insisted on driving. She leaned forward in the seat, straining to see through all the dust. Dirty men scuttled about like worker ants. “Any ideas on where we might find the paymaster’s office?”

Kat pushed stray hairs back from her face and straightened her hat. “Let’s start with that small tin shed.” She pointed to a corrugated shack with bars on the windows. “It looks to be some sort of office.”

Nell directed the horse toward the small shed off to the right of a much larger one. When she stepped out of the wagon, she noticed the sign on the front of the building: P
AYMASTER
. Her heart quickened. As foolish as it may be, she and Kat both held high hopes for this visit. They both needed answers.

Nell reached for Rosita and lifted her to the ground. “You are to stay right beside me or Miss Kat. Understood?”

Nodding, the child clutched Nell’s hand, her dark eyes mirroring the anxiety that knotted Nell’s stomach.

Kat wrapped the reins over a railing out front, then joined them at the door. As the three of them stepped inside, dust mixed with body odor and cigar smoke to create an immediate threat to the breakfast
Nell had eaten. She pressed her lips together to avoid gagging. Kat’s pallor signaled that she was doing the same.

Two men with cigars hanging from their mouths looked at them from behind a desk covered with papers and books. The larger man removed his spectacles and slanted a menacing look Rosita’s direction.

Straightening, the smaller man rose to his feet and pulled his cigar out of his mouth. “Don’t get too many women around here.”

Nell squeezed the little girl’s hand, hoping to reassure her.

“Which of you is Mr. Holt, the paymaster for the mine?” Kat had shouted the question, trying to be heard over the pistons in the stamp mill.

“That’s me.” Still scowling at Rosita, the man with the bulbous nose flicked ashes into a can.

Mules had better manners.

“I’m here about Patrick…Paddy Maloney.”

He set his cigar across the top of the can and stood. “The rat is dead.”

Kat started but quickly squared her shoulders. “Yes. I’m aware of that, sir.”

“Now why on God’s green earth would a proper lady like you come out here lookin’ for a cad like him?”

“Did Mr. Maloney work here?”

“Pickled Paddy worked here, all right. When he remembered he had a job. He was a mucker.” The smaller man snickered. “Cleaned up after everybody else. That’s how important he was.”

Nell sighed, and Kat shook her head. Patrick’s letters said he was a foreman. So far, the only grain of truth to any of it was that the man
had lived and worked in Cripple Creek. The house was most likely a lie too, but Nell understood why Kat had to know the truth. She’d save her questions about Judson until Kat had her say.

“Sir, did Mr. Maloney have any family in Colorado?”

“No. Wasn’t anyone who would have him for more than a—”

“I have a letter that states his promise of marriage.” Kat pulled Patrick’s letters from her pocket.

Mr. Holt stepped out around the desk and planted himself against the front of it. “Well, I’ll be. He’d gotten himself a mail-order bride.” He shook his head and turned to the smaller man, who laughed, his eyes wide. “But that doesn’t tell me why you’re here.”