A Wanted Man (17 page)

And they answered, because she was such an obviously harmless bit of fluff, and they’d rather satisfy her curiosity than have her yammering at them about her last trip to Paris, which she’d told them about in such numbing detail that for a second even he believed she’d really been there.

“So,” she said, just another question in a spill of words, “where’s the mine?”

That’s my girl
, Sam thought. Laura obviously had an untapped talent for deceit.

“Oh, it’s thatta way.” Collis pointed southeast. “If you’re quiet, an’ there ain’t much wind kicking up, sometimes you can hear the rumble of the stamp mill from the main house.”

“A stamp mill?”

“It crushes the ore.”

“Can I go see it?” She touched the glimmer of gold that encircled her neck. “I like silver. And gold, and diamonds, and…everything that sparkles, really.”

“I—” He caught a warning glare from Jonce. “You’ll have to ask Mr. Crocker about that, miss.”

“Good.” She clapped her hands as if it were already settled. “And where does the train go?”

“It parallels the road for a couple of miles, about a half a mile that way.” He pointed east. “Then, of course, it curves south, toward the mine—”

“Collis!”

Collis cleared his throat. “I’m sure Mr. Crocker would prefer to tell you all about it himself.”

“Well, he’s not here now, is he? And I do so hate to wait for answers.” She smiled prettily, and Collis grinned back, a boy lost to the charms of an accomplished flirt. “Do all you hands live together?”

“Sure. We’ve got a coupla bunkhouses right near the main house. But you’ll be seeing that soon enough.”

“And all the mine workers?”

“Oh, no, they stay out by the mines. We don’t want
them
around—”

“Collis!” Jonce yanked on his reins, hauling his mount around. “You go on and lead for a while. I’ll bring up the rear. Wouldn’t want anyone falling behind.”

That, despite Laura’s best efforts, put paid to the conversation for the next twenty minutes, for Jonce was apparently not so easily led as Collis.

Smoke curled above a hill, the first sign that they were at last approaching the compound.

“I’m going ahead to tell ’em we’re coming,” Jonce kicked his horse into a furious gallop, rounding the hill in a cloud of dust as if he couldn’t wait to get away from them. Or, Sam thought, they needed warning of an outsider’s approach.

The compound nestled snugly into a small valley. A dozen buildings, maybe more. Sam located the bunkhouse, a cookhouse, the stables, all in excellent repair. The main house was a long, rambling, one-story affair, built of logs with a porch that ran the full length. It was the house of a man who wanted what he wanted and didn’t much care what he had to pay to get it.

The horses in the corral were very fine. Someone had planted trees, spiky evergreens that clustered at the corners of the house but hadn’t grown roof high as of yet. The yard was scraped clean, and he could see dozens of workers: a gardener in the vegetable plot behind the house; two washerwomen bending over a steaming kettle at the far side of what had to be the cookhouse; hands working with the horses, mending a
fence that already seemed in good repair, whitewashing a tiny frame structure that was probably a well house.

Sam had been on many a working ranch. It always showed. In houses that desperately needed a whitewashing because that had to wait for a less busy time, and there was never a less busy time. A torn-up yard because a horse had gotten loose. Broken lumber piled beside the stables because wood was too valuable to throw away but nobody had found a use for it yet. A rusting plow in an overgrown patch of garden, or a drunken cowboy slumped in the shade.
Something
.

The Silver Spur was perfect, with the same eerie, unreal feel that the town held, times ten. A stage set of a ranch, where the people were props, not residents. A half dozen peacocks strutted through the yard, their jewel-toned feathers the brightest spots of color in the dusty brown complex.

“Miss Hamilton!” A man awaited them on the porch, smiling genially around a thin cigar. But he didn’t come out to greet his guests, Sam noted, just waited on his porch for their approach like a king accepting the pilgrimage of his subjects.

So that’s Haw Crocker
, he thought. Not too tall, shoulders as wide as his house, a big mound of a belly that looked solid for all it was round as a hot-air balloon. His hat was broad, his shirt blinding white—too white for a man who worked the land. Obviously Haw Crocker had stopped dirtying those beefy hands a long time ago.

He waved to one of the young men flanking the broad stairway, who seemed to have no other function but to stand around and wait until Crocker thought up something for them to do. “Help Miss Hamilton down, would ya?”

Sam leaned toward Jonce, who’d jumped down and handed his reins to another boy who materialized from behind the house. “Aren’t you going to help me down?”

Jonce scowled. “Swing your leg over and drop. I’m sure you’ll manage.” He jogged toward the porch.

He had to be more careful about tweaking the man like that, Sam decided. Or he was going to start laughing, and that wouldn’t do.

Sam dismounted. Another boy appeared, to whom he tossed his reins. He’d much rather have seen to the horse himself than trust it to one of Crocker’s minions, but Artemus Kirkwood wouldn’t bother with such things.

He made it to the porch just as Laura ascended. Crocker condescended to take one step forward, and her pretty gloved hands were swallowed up in his.

“Miss Hamilton,” he said, his voice deep, gravelly from too many cigars and too many years in the harsh climate. “I am delighted that you are here. I have not seen your father in ten years, of course—the distance is large, and we are both busy men—but I still consider him one of my dearest friends. And, of course, we’ve had several immensely profitable ventures together.” He chuckled.

Laura adroitly slipped her hands from his. Her smile was proper, social, giving no hint that she was anything other than a friendly young woman. “It’s very kind of you to have us. The trip was becoming quite tiring.”

“I did not expect you for a few days. I had instructed the engineer to attach your cars. Surely it must be difficult for you to travel with so few of your things.”

“Honestly, if I’d had to spend another night in that teeny little car, I was going to go mad. I’m sure I’ll be much more comfortable here. And I’m confident that
the Silver Spur will be able to provide adequately for my needs.”

“I’m sure we will.”

“Well, of course you will! And your birds are so
darling.
”

“They eat the snakes.” He turned to Sam, acknowledging his presence for the first time. “And who is this?”

“Artemus Kirkwood,” she said, waving him closer. “My apprentice.”

Crocker raised a thick eyebrow. “Your father allows you to travel alone with him?”

“Oh, well, what he doesn’t know…” She trailed off, beaming at him. “No, don’t give me that look. You have daughters, I believe?”

Crocker nodded. “Three of them. All safely married off. And one son that works with me here.”

“There, you see? I’m sure it’s a reflex reaction on your part, protecting young women from the attentions of men. I appreciate your including me in your concern. But don’t you worry. Artemus has no interest in me beyond the painting.”

She tugged on the loopy pink ribbon that secured her hat. “But the trip has been quite taxing.” Her shoulders drooped tiredly, her mouth curving down. “Much more exhausting than I’d expected. I’m very thankful for the hospitality.”

Haw turned toward the door. “Lupe! Please show Miss Hamilton to her quarters.”

A lovely dark-haired woman in rich blue appeared.

“This way.”

“Thank you.” Laura drifted across the porch to the door, then stopped, as if she’d just remembered. “What about Artemus?”

“Oh.” Sam met Crocker’s frown with a vacant smile. “We’ll find…someplace to put him.”

“You can put him with the hands,” Laura suggested. “He’d enjoy the experience, I’m sure.”

Behind him, Jonce and Collis shook their heads so hard they nearly snapped off. Sam had to bite down hard to keep from laughing.

Smiling, Laura drifted by.

Crocker had no idea what she was capable of, Sam thought.

But then, neither had he.

H
aw Crocker really knew how to set a table.

The dining room, a long, soaring rectangle of a room with stripped wood beams at least a foot in diameter, held a table that sat twenty-four with ease. Three young men in dark gray suits served and whisked dishes away with the kind of efficiency that only came from long practice and a drill sergeant of a butler. Platters of sautéed trout in almonds were quickly joined by a huge roast loin of beef, expertly carved and served with browned potatoes.

There were only seven at dinner, which seemed a terrible waste to Laura. Besides Laura, Sam, and Crocker, his son joined them. Ben was an entirely forgettable young man of about Laura’s age who deferred to his father on everything and spoke only when spoken to, and sometimes not even then. Also in attendance were Crocker’s ranch manager, Carl Fitch, and his wife Adeline, who had their own small house a hundred yards from the main; and a giant of a man intro
duced only as Clem, who’d mumbled “hello” and had not spoken again the entire dinner.

“This is lovely,” Laura said, spooning up a delicious apple dumpling, “but you did not have to make such a fuss for us. We have been on the road for so long that anything would have been a great luxury.”

“Oh, no,” Crocker said. Candlelight gleamed on the smooth dome of his head. His face was deeply lined, as though at one time he’d spent a long time in the sun, but his scalp shone pink, as if it had been a while since he’d had to do so. “I simply enjoy a proper dinner at the end of a long day. Now that you’re here, we’ll begin plans for a special celebration. Saturday, perhaps.”

She glanced at Sam, who’d been seated across the table from her, limiting their opportunities for communication. He smiled blandly at her.

“I’m not certain we’ll be here that long,” Laura said.

“What do you mean, you won’t be here that long?” Crocker dragged his spoon across his plate, scraping up the last bit of cream. “Of course you’re going to be here. I’d never want your Daddy to think that I didn’t take good care o’ you.” He punched Sam, just to his right, on his arm to emphasize his point. Sam winced. “Her daddy and I made a lot of money together, son.”

“I’m aware of that,” Sam said precisely.

“Saw you poking around outside before dinner while Miss Hamilton was resting. Don’t you like your room?”

“Oh, no, my room is quite acceptable.” Crocker frowned, as if he’d expected something a bit more flattering than acceptable. “I’m just…restless sometimes. And curious. And, of course, it is part of my responsibilities to select possible vistas for Miss Hamilton’s projects.”

“New fellas—” Haw kept smiling, but his gaze had
sharpened. “
City
fellas, shouldn’t be wandering around out here alone. Let me know next time you decide to explore, and I’ll assign somebody to show you around.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“I insist,” Haw Crocker said, in a voice that was accustomed to being followed without question.

“All right, then.” Sam nodded. He could no doubt shake his “escort” easily enough if he had to. And perhaps he could pry a bit of information out of the man first.

“Tell me,” Laura began, “my father is forever complaining about the difficulties in finding and retaining qualified workers. You are quite a good distance from the population centers, and I’m sure the work in the mines and the ranch is quite strenuous. Do you have similar problems?”

Crocker set his knife carefully across the edge of his plate, a blue-and-white pattern that must have been imported from China. He folded his hands together. He had big palms, fingers thick as sausages, hands that looked like they could bring down a steer or dig a mine.

“No,” he said precisely. “Not to question your daddy’s way of doing business—God knows he’s done well enough for himself—but it’s different out here, and I pay well for good work. We got no problem getting and keeping all the help we need.” Then he chuckled, leaning back in his high-backed armchair. “Ain’t that right, Carl?”

“Couldn’t ask for a better boss,” Carl said smoothly.

“Really?” Laura leaned forward intently, resting her forearms on the edge of the table, the snowy white cloth nearly the shade of the delicately feminine wrist exposed beneath a wide band of frothy lace. “Because
my father mentioned something about the unions, that they’ve been causing terrible trouble in the mines, so much so that he considered terminating his investment—” She giggled. “Oops. I guess I shouldn’t have said that, should I?”

Bless her
, Sam thought.
Throwing out questions, prodding, poking, seeing if she can shake out something
. Not to mention encouraging Haw Crocker to view her as an empty-headed, innocuous fribble of a girl. By the next afternoon, he figured, she’d be stumbling into the mines, sketch pad in hand, her eyes wide and innocent if anybody objected to her presence, and nobody would be surprised.

Before this was over he was going to have to hogtie her to keep her out of trouble. He could see it coming already. And, if, while she was all neatly trussed, he was suddenly overcome by his baser urges, well, that wouldn’t be entirely his fault, would it?

“What are you grinnin’ about, boy?” Crocker asked.

“Oh.” Sam wiped his mouth with his napkin, a luxurious rectangle of thick linen, and adjusted it in his lap until it lay smoothly. “My apologies. I realize it’s most impolite not to share my amusement. It was merely a private reminiscence, however, and unfit for public consumption, I’m afraid.”

Laura had both her eyebrows lifted almost to her hairline. She’d be haranguing him later, relentless until she pried an answer from him. And wouldn’t it just serve her right if he told her the truth?

But then, he wouldn’t be seeing her later. He planned to be out most of the night, looking for Griff or something that belonged to him. And it was not as if Sam could sleep in that stuffy room they’d given him any
way, with its deep, curtain-draped bed that would surely cut off his air supply.

They’d given him a room in a separate wing, the entire length of this monstrous house between him and Laura. And that bothered him. He’d spent more than a month with little more than a few yards between them at all times. Even in Kearney, before he’d joined her party, she’d always been in reach; he’d been closer to her most of the time than she, or her guards, had ever suspected, because he’d no intention of allowing her to slip out of town before he had an opportunity to attach himself to her party.

It was unsettling to have her that far away, even though Haw Crocker had every reason in the world to keep Laura safe. He’d be facing the wrath of Leland Hamilton if he didn’t, and even Haw Crocker’s considerable power faded to insignificance when compared with the Baron of Bankers. And yet…Sam was going to worry every single moment they were on Silver Spur land. Maybe every moment after that until he saw her safely back inside the gates of Sea Haven.

And maybe, he thought, his stomach sinking in dread, he might worry about her until the day he died.

“How’s your work going?” Crocker waved over one of the serving boys, who quickly refilled his wineglass. He’d been doing that a lot but as of yet it’d had no noticeable effect on Crocker. Still, it was one sliver of information Sam hadn’t had before: Crocker liked to drink, and he held his liquor well.

“Quite well, thank you,” Laura answered.

“Care to share?”

“Oh, I don’t think—”

“Please?”

Laura puckered up her mouth in thought, then her face lit. “All right.”

She dashed out of the room in a swish of pale green silk. Moments later she returned clutching her sketchbook, her smile fixed and vacant.

The woman was up to something. She’d acquiesced too quickly, was trying too hard to appear shallow and feather-headed, as if her work was merely an entertaining hobby rather than something she put her heart and sweat into.

She tugged her chair nearer to sit at Crocker’s elbow, pushing aside plates to clear a good space on the table. “Here you go,” she said eagerly.

She leaned close to Crocker as he sifted through the sketches, spilling a torrent of commentary about light and shadows and proportion that had Crocker’s eyes glazing over.

“And this,” she chirped, “I started just yesterday. At the other side of your ranch, I believe, and this…oh. That’s just some doodling, you don’t want to see—”

“No.” Crocker’s beefy hand came down flat on top of the page. “I want to see it all. What’s this?”

“Well.” She flicked a delighted glance at Sam. Oh, but he was going to have to keep a close eye on her. She taken to this like she’d been born to the job. But she’d never had any experience with the darker side and the things that could happen when you took too many chances and pushed it too far. And so it would be up to him to protect her.

“It’s the
strangest
thing,” she said lightly. “I was just there sketching, minding my own business, and all of a sudden this odd man just started running toward us, shouting something we couldn’t understand.” She shrugged as if it were something vaguely interesting
but ultimately unimportant. “And then some men on horseback ran him down as if he were a wild calf! Can you imagine? I meant to ask you about it, actually, but I forgot.”

The broad charm vanished from Crocker’s face, his expression unnaturally blank as he studied the sketch. He lifted it in his thick fingers, tilting it from side to side as if it might help jog his memory. Then he shook his head. “Nope. But I’ve got hundreds of employees, and dozens more come and go on any given day. I wouldn’t recognize most of ’em.”

He tossed the sketchbook in front of Carl, where it fell with enough force to raise a crumpled napkin on a
poof
of air. Ben peered at it out of the corner of his eye, his bland face paling.

“Carl? How about you?”

Crocker’s and Fitch’s gazes met, a warning flashing between them.

Carl cleared his throat. “Ah—” He barely glanced at the page. “Yeah, that’s Chan. Hired him to work in our mines about a year ago.” He shrugged. “Felt sorry for the guy. Most places won’t take on a Chinaman these days. It was a mistake, though. He just went crazy one day. Attacked his supervisor, screaming at nothing. Stopped speakin’ English, so we couldn’t make a word out.”

“Oh, the poor thing,” Laura said. “What did you do then?”

“Wasn’t much we could do. Called in the doc, but he said there wasn’t anything he could do to help. So we rigged up a room where he couldn’t hurt himself or anybody else and kept him there.”

“You didn’t institutionalize him?”

“We’re short on sanitariums out here in the Utah
Territory, miss. And since we didn’t know anythin’ about him or his family, if he even had one, it seemed like it would be better to keep him in familiar surroundings. Maybe it’d help him come out of it.”

“Oh, that’s so kind of you,” she said, beaming in admiration.

“We try to take care of our own here on the Silver Spur,” Crocker said. They were lying. Sam was certain of it. But which part, exactly, they were lying
about
was a lot harder to detect.

The whole thing might have nothing whatsoever to do with Griff. But there was definitely something a bit…off about the Silver Spur.

“And yesterday?” she prodded.

“Yes, Carl,” Crocker said evenly, “what
about
yesterday?”

“He got out.” His voice rose on the last word, as if he were asking a question instead of stating a fact. “We didn’t figure he’d last the night bumbling around outside. So we had to bring him in however we could before he hurt somebody. Or himself.”

“Why wasn’t I informed?” Crocker asked.

“Didn’t see any reason to bother you about it,” Carl said. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “He weren’t gone but a couple of hours before we tracked him down. If we came to you with every detail, Haw, you’d be doing nothin’ but hearing reports from sunup to sundown.”

“True enough.” Crocker nodded in agreement “All the same, Carl, if he gets out again, you let me know. I don’t like the thought of the poor demented fella running around free. Maybe we’ll have to hire a nurse, somethin’ like that, to keep an eye on ’em.”

“Sure thing, Haw.”

“Oh, Mr. Crocker!” Laura’s eyes were misty, so
richly admiring of Crocker’s compassion that even Sam almost believed her. “That unfortunate lunatic is
so
lucky to have you.”

Laura retired early to her room. Haw Crocker assured her that he understood her withdrawal; sending her off with a maid and profuse apologies that he hadn’t realized the excitement of arrival and the strain of dinner was all too taxing for such a delicate creature on her first day.

Her father, she decided, must have described her in such a way that Haw thought she was teetering on the edge of death.

Laura knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep, not for hours. But she’d retreated to her room early, pleading the strain of the day, because portraying a brainless twit was far more difficult than she’d expected.

Oh, it was certainly entertaining at first. Taking a bit of her mother’s mannerisms, some of Mrs. Bossidy’s, a good chunk of that silly maid at Sea Haven who twittered every time a man wandered by. She could see how playing a role, putting something over on everyone, could become addictive. Having to watch every move you made, every expression on your face, forced one to live in every single second, a rushing alertness that reminded you you were alive.

But the constant vigilance was tiring, an undercurrent of nerves thrumming painfully.

It certainly was a lovely room. Peeled logs, glowing soft gold in the lanternlight, formed the outside wall, centered with a big, shuttered window. The other walls were thickly plastered in cream and hung with gold-and-burgundy tapestries. Heavy, dark wood fashioned the furniture, the room dominated by a large, wine-
velvet-draped bed with posts the size of tree trunks—which probably
had
been tree trunks.

The silently efficient maid had neatly stored away her things in a blink. Her dresses were freshly pressed, the skirts peeking out of an open armoire. Her canvases and cases had been stacked in the corner.